Had he knocked too early? He checked the cabinet clock nearby, noting that he was on time for their rendezvous. Perhaps Cassandra had not yet finished her bath…
The young maid did not flinch at the sight of him in nothing but a dressing gown and nightshirt. “Miss Staunton be sick.”
Wade frowned. “What is wrong with her?”
“Beggin’ pardon, Your Grace, but it ain’t for the likes of ‘ee…”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the girl, though he respected her loyalty and discretion. “I may be male, Wenna, but I am not ignorant. What ails your mistress?”
“Her bleedin’ and do not wish to see ‘ee.”
So the time had come. While he dreaded it for Cassandra’s sake, he refused to make her suffer alone. He would give her privacy, respect, and time to let nature take its course, yet they were partnersin all things, and should weather this week together.
“I wish to see her only for a moment. Ask Miss Staunton to permit me.”
Wenna disappeared from sight, careful to close the door at her back. He could hear muffled voices through the wood paneling. A creak of footsteps on the floorboards. Shuffling and rustling against the carpet.
The wild-haired maid returned. The door opened wide enough for her round cheeks to push through. “Her be terrible sick, Your Grace. Retchin’ and writhin’. Her do not want ‘ee to see her lookin’ so poorly.”
Wade stood nearly a foot taller than this girl. He pressed his own face to the gap in the paneling, calling out, “Cassandra, I know you’re unwell. Whilst I know you are strong enough to endure this illness, you’re not accustomed to going through it alone. You may not have your sisters with you now…but youdohave me.”
He felt Wenna ease back on the door, making an inch or two of additional room. He used the space to his advantage. He angled further into the room, but he could not see Cassandra in the dimly lit space.
“I’m here, buttercup. Just on the other side of this wall. I’ve two empty hands, strong arms, and quick enough feet. I shall sit up—as I did at the White Lion—to make sure you’re safe. Remember my candle light shining down on your cottage? You said you could see it from your bedroom.” He put a palm flat against the door, as close as he could get to her now. “Know that my candle is burning tonight. I am but one flickering flame away.”
Wenna sniffled beneath him. Her mob cap trembled as she held back tears, for his speech had affected her. He hoped his words reached Cassandra.
A small voice called out from the bedchamber beyond. “Wade! Don’t go.”
She paused to retch into a chamber pot from behind the privacy screen.
“I am here,” he said.
Water splashed as she rinsed her face. After a moment, Cassandra emerged from behind the screen. Her dark hair fell loose and tangled over her shoulders—not in her usual riotous curls, but as if she had not bothered to brush it.
She was pale and trembling as she hobbled to bed. The night rail she wore was rusty-stained and nearly transparent from years of boiling. It must have been a trusty old friend for her to reach for it now.
“Are you squeamish, Wade?”
He shook his head. “I survived public school, madam. I’ve a strong stomach.”
She smiled weakly. “Then come to bed, for I do not wish to be alone, after all.”
He did as she bid. Wade shucked his dressing gown and tossed it over the striped settee. All but one lamp had been snuffed, and he suspected she needed it to navigate her way to the privy.
He sank down onto the mattress and pulled the bedsheets up to cover them both. He could feel Cassandra shivering beneath the heavy counterpane, but knew she was not cold. She was in a great deal of pain.
She clutched a hot water bottle to her abdomen. Indeed, she hugged it like a lover. Wade fitted himself against her back, wrapping his arms around her, holding the bottle in place so that she did not have to.
He kept the lamp burning, even as Wenna silently excused herself from the room.
Cassandra’s unkempt lady’s maid was fiercely protective of her. The footmen were half in love with her, and even Tremaine had watched in admiration as the mistress of Pender Abbey rendered aid to a lowly chambermaid.
Her decision to continue paying Morla’s wages—which was only fair since the girl had been injured during the course of her duties—had nearly brought Mrs. Cardy to tears. Cassandra had handled the situation perfectly, when he would’ve stood back, appeared callous, or likely said the wrong thing.
He frequently said and did the wrong thing, and then claimed not to care rather than admit his own embarrassment. He was a man with few friends and no family. Those he loved had either grown tired of his tantrums and moved on, or outright rejected him.
Wade had taught himself long ago not to notice, not to care. Not to bother. But he had taken a risk with Cassandra Staunton. He had put himself forward and done his very best to show her the real Duke of Wadebridge.
