Page 71 of The Earl Takes All
She awoke in a foul mood, with a need to confront him, to face him, but feared he’d take satisfaction in her need to see him, that he would know he had sparked jealousy in her by spending multiple nights with another woman. Which was ridiculous, as she had no hold on him. She was a widow, in mourning. The last thing she should be thinking about was another man.
Still, she needed to thank him for the tarts. It was unconscionable that she had yet to do so. Taking breakfast downstairs would allow her the opportunity to express her appreciation.
However when she entered the breakfast dining room, Rigdon informed her that the earl was taking breakfast in his room. First dinner and now breakfast? He was secluding himself as she had been. Why?
“Is he planning to have all his meals in his bedchamber?”
Looking somewhat guilty, Rigdon shifted his feet. “For the present time, yes.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing m’lady.”
Oh there was something. Otherwise he wouldn’t have averted his eyes. Why was Edward staying in his room? Oh, dear Lord! Had he brought the merry widow home with him? Had he sequestered himself away because he was coupling with her?
And what if he had? It wasn’t her business. She couldn’t forbid him from bringing women into his own home, not like before when it was hers. Except that everyone thought he was Albert being unfaithful to her. And that she could not tolerate. He was disparaging Albert and her relationship with him.
Rigdon suddenly straightened his stance, squared his jaw. “It’s not right, m’lady. On this matter, his lordship is being most foolish.”
Oh, God, she was correct and the servants knew he was carrying on with some other woman. Why the devil couldn’t he have been discreet? The anger swept through her on such a rush of heated indignation—
“He ordered us not to tell you but I fear for him.”
As well he should. She was going to do all within her power to ensure Edward was never able to show his face in a fancy parlor. To humiliate her like this was beyond the pale. She might even take a poker to him in his most private of areas to ensure he pleased no other widows.
“He has yet to retrieve the broth or water that Marlow left out for him,” Rigdon told her.
Broth? He was serving his mistress broth? Hardly the most charming means of seduction. Yet he’d brought her strawberry tarts. None of this made any sense. She shook her head. “Marlow is leaving brothwhere?”
“In the hallway, outside his lordship’s chamber door.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s forbidden anyone from going inside—unless the broth sits there for two days, at which point someone may enter. I suppose because Lord Greyling will be dead.”
Did one die from excessive sex? She supposed it was possible, and wasn’t an entirely unpleasant way to go...
“Rigdon, I’m not quite sure I follow.”
“Of course not, m’lady, because we’re not allowed to tell you.”
“Then I suggest you tell me.”
“He’ll sack me.”
“I shall sack you if you don’t.”
He released a big heavy sigh. “Very well. Lord Greyling is ill.”
“Ill?”
“Yes, madam. Influenza. He feared that if he did not isolate himself...”
The remainder of his words faded into the background because she’d already run out of the room and was rushing down the hallway. Her parents had died of influenza. How had this come to pass? How had he gotten ill? He was too strong, too bold, too young to be taken down with an illness such as this.
Not until she reached his wing did she realize that she had no idea which room he had claimed as his own. Broth. She merely had to find the broth in the hallway. She sprinted up the stairs. At the landing, she headed toward the left.
She didn’t need to locate the broth after all. Marlow was sitting in a chair at the end of the corridor. As she neared, he came to his feet. “Lady Greyling.”
