Page 25 of Mischief at Marsden Manor
“Well, well,” he said as he set Crispin upright, “what do we have here?”
He leered at Crispin, from his ruffled hair to his open shirt, before he turned to me, and inspected me up and down, as well. I gave him a stony look in return. My hair wasn’t disheveled, my dress wasn’t wrinkled, and my makeup wasn’t smudged, so he could stare all he wanted to. And he did, until Crispin stepped in front of me. “What are you doing here, Dom?”
Rivers didn’t answer, just gave Crispin another amused look. “I could ask you the same thing, old bean, couldn’t I? The unlikeliest people popping out of rooms all over the place tonight.”
“I’m having a conversation with my cousin,” Crispin said, “if you must know.”
Rivers flicked another look at me. “But she’s not your cousin, is she? Isn’t that what you told me a few months ago?”
“Close enough for jazz,” Crispin told him. “Especially at two in the morning.”
Rivers made a little humming noise and gave him another once-over before he said, “You might want to fix your hair before Laetitia sees it.”
“Laetitia is asleep,” Crispin said.
Rivers smirked. “Are you sure of that?”
“Unless you came from there, I’m fairly certain.” Crispin eyed him. “Are you trying to blackmail me, Dom? Because if you are…”
“Would I do that?” Rivers wanted to know, spreading his hands innocently. Trying to look like someone who had nothing to hide, I guessed.
“Weren’t you one of the men in Cecily Fletcher’s room earlier this evening?” I wanted to know, and Rivers turned to me, brows rising. “Do you think you should be making threats?”
“Are you trying to insinuate something, Miss Darling?”
“Only that people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, Mr. Rivers. You’re not exactly free from controversy yourself, are you?”
He didn’t respond to that, just turned back to Crispin, who told him, “Go to bed, Dom. There’s nothing going on here, but I can’t stop you from telling Laetitia that you saw me if you decide to. I don’t think you’d be telling her anything she doesn’t already know, though.”
Rivers didn’t say anything, just contemplated him for a moment with his lips pursed. Then he gave a short nod. “Good night, St George. Miss Darling.”
I got a truncated bow before he headed off down the hallway. A few seconds later, I heard a door open and close. Crispin turned to me. “Sleep well, Darling.”
“The same to you,” I told him, and pulled my head inside the room and shut the door. If he turned around at the top of the stairs, the last thing I wanted was for him to see me standing there, watching him walk away. Knowing him, it would undoubtedly give him ideas.
Inside the room, I did my usual evening toilette: Pulled the dress over my head and hung it on a hanger to air out, rolled down my stockings, and shimmied out of my unmentionables and into my pyjamas. That done, I fetched my toiletries bag and wandered next door to the lavatory. The hallway was empty when I entered it, although there were rustling sounds to be heard from inside a few of the rooms. Dominic Rivers mustbe getting situated for bed, for I could hear someone moving around in his and Reginald’s shared room, and there was also a murmur of voices from inside, so he must have woken the Honorable Reggie when he walked in. Likewise, there was the sound of movement from inside one of the rooms on the other side of the hall. Cecily’s again, or perhaps Lady Violet’s or Olivia Barnsley’s.
But that was none of my concern, so I shut the door to the loo and went about the business of getting ready for bed. Cold-cream on my face to remove the makeup, toothpaste on the brush to clean my teeth. After it was all said and done, I opened the door to the hallway again, only to find myself face to face with the expectant mother herself.
“Oh.” I took an involuntary step back. Cecily Fletcher took that as an invitation, and brushed past me into the lavatory, where she fell to her knees in front of the commode and proceeded to empty her stomach. Loudly.
I winced. I’ll sit beside Christopher while he attempts to turn his guts inside out, but only because I love him. I had no love for Cecily Fletcher. The noises she made were obscene, and the smell was indescribable.
At the same time, I didn’t feel as if I could simply walk away and leave her to suffer alone. I may be cold, but I’m not callous. And she was so clearly suffering. I had gotten a good look at her when she brushed past me—a look I hadn’t achieved down in the ballroom earlier—and without the red lipstick and rouged cheeks, she was deathly pale, with dark rings under her eyes.
So I made a face, but the only decision I could live with. I left my toiletries bag on the side of the sink and went over to Cecily.
One good thing about the newly bobbed hairstyles is that there were no long braids to keep out of the way of the toilet. I did put my hand on her forehead, and it was clammy and cold.Her bangs were wispy and wet with sweat as they brushed the back of my hand.
She flinched when she felt me take hold of her, but she didn’t protest, and then another bout of sickness made that impossible, anyway. I wrinkled my nose, but stuck with it.
Once the new spasm was over, I left her to lean drunkenly on the toilet bowl, whimpering, and went to the sink. She hadn’t brought a flannel, and there were none sitting around, so I used my own. Once it was wet, I took it back over to Cecily and used it to wipe her forehead and cheeks and the back of her neck. She was trembling, and the hand that wasn’t clutching the toilet bowl was lying across her stomach, fingers spread.
“How often does this happen?” I wanted to know. “I thought it was called ‘morning sickness’ for a reason.”
She shot me a look. “Of course he told you.”
“There’s no reason why he wouldn’t,” I said. “Although I won’t spread it around any further. It’s none of my affair.”
