The old Scot’s face was grim. “I have been informed by her lady’s maid that Her Grace is indisposed.”
Sebastian snorted. “Indisposed, is she? Let’s see how indisposed she is after I pay her a visit.”
Fury had his head now, guiding him as firmly as if he were a horse, up the stairs toward the duchess’s chambers. He should have anticipated that she would have used an excuse to get out of the dinner. Perhaps she thought he would condone this level of disrespect.
He was the duke, blast it. Until she left, he would eat with his wife when he requested her company—and he would not investigate within himself why he required her company the way he did!
The point was, he did, and he had been denied.
Sebastian would not tolerate being denied.
He reached the door to her bedchamber. A maid emerged just then, carrying a basin of water and some wet towels. At the sight of him, she went pale, which told him a little of how his face appeared.
“I am here to see my wife,” he hissed through clenched teeth, the only request for admission he allowed himself before throwing open the door.
A small sitting room lay empty, the door beyond into his wife’s bedchamber hanging ajar. He strode in like fury made flesh and stopped cold at the sight of Aurelia in bed.
No, not justinbed. He had expected her to either be sitting in an armchair reading or reclined gracefully, or perhaps to be posed provocatively by the hearth, all as some kind of point or punishment.
Instead, her pale face was overly flushed, and her eyes were shut and fluttering. Her chestnut hair was loose, tangled on the pillowabove her, and a maid sat beside her, carefully dabbing at her damp forehead.
This was not a punishment.
A new emotion gripped him—he took two steps before forcibly stopping himself. “What… is this?”
The maid glanced up at his arrival, deep concern in her brows. “She has a fever, Your Grace.”
His jaw snapped shut. “And why was I not apprised of this?”
“Her Grace hoped to be up in time for dinner. I sent a message with Mr. Fellows that she has fallen ill.”
Ah, yes. And Fellows had, no doubt, made the same erroneous assumption he had: that she waspretendingin order to spite him.
He closed his eyes for a second. Damn his pride, his reckless arrogance, assuming the worst of her merely because she had dared to stand up to him. The air left his lungs, and he counted to three before inhaling again, chasing out the worst of the bad feelings.
There was no time for this.
He had felt a version of this—far, far worse—when Kate hadn’t returned home, but here, there was something he might do to help.
He shrugged off his coat, revealing his waistcoat and the arms of his shirt. Those, he rolled to his elbows. The fire was high already, the room sweltering; he knew little of fevers, but suspected this to be the best course of action.
“Send for the physician,” he barked at the nearest maid. “Inform him that Her Grace is ill.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The maid scuttled away.
Sebastian returned his attention to the maid.Jane, he thought; he had seen her perhaps once before, and he had given her little mind, but now he gave her the weight of his full focus. “Tell me in no unclear terms what led to this.”
“There’s little to tell, Your Grace. She returned upstairs an hour or two ago, claiming a headache. I could see in a moment that she had a fever, and I got her into bed, promising to wake her in time for dinner, but as you can see—”
“I understand,” he said curtly. “She is in no position to rise.”
“I don’t think I could wake her if I tried.”
Cold fear gripped him immediately at that, but he forced it down. She was not Kate; he would not live through that again.
“What can I do?” he demanded, gesturing for Jane to rise so he could take her place. He dipped the rag into water and rested it back on Aurelia’s forehead. She tossed her head, eyes drifting behind her eyelids as though she was dreaming.
Perhaps she was. He hoped they were pleasant dreams.
