CHAPTER FIVE
The next day passed slowly for Aurelia. Although she was assured she would meet the duke at breakfast, the breakfast table—once she found it; a footman had to lead her there—was empty. And indeed, the small luncheon she ate in the blue room, overlooking the distant sea, was perfectly pleasant and alone, as was her supper.
She was not accustomed to eating alone. Either she ate with the fellow servants downstairs, or she ate with the Duchess of Fenwick, if company was thin on the ground and the duchess desired someone to speak to. When her mother and uncle were still alive, she had eaten with them.
Thus, eating by herself, waited upon by several silent footmen, was a new and not altogether pleasant experience. If she had been merelyAurelia Dufort, she might have attempted to engage the footmen in conversation, but she was now AureliaHale, the Duchess of Ravenhall, and duchesses did not converse with footmen as a general rule.
Her position made her feel lonelier than ever.
It might have been at least bearable if the duke were by her side, but she had not so much as caught a glimpse of him all day. Hehadto be avoiding her; she had even loitered outside his bedchamber for anembarrassinglylong time in the hopes of seeing him, but had seen and heard nothing!
Mr. Fellows and Mrs. Hodge were equally unhelpful, responding vaguely to her desire to see the duke.
Eventually, later in the evening, Aurelia retired to the library to read. The Duchess of Fenwick had firmly believed novels were a threat to feminine virtue and wasted no opportunity to say so. Which made it all the more satisfying to find an entire wall of them tucked behind the manor’s worthier tomes.
Nothing published in the last ten years. No women authors. But still, plenty of stories with swooning, swordplay, and scandal. She could work with that.
By the time she finally peeled herself away, her candle was burning low and her eyes ached from squinting at tiny print. She collected the stub of wax and made her way toward her bedchamber.
Then she heard it. A low groan.
Her heart in her mouth, she stopped again, listening.
There! Another groan, this one a fraction louder.
Coming from the duke’s suite…
She contemplated the situation. Mrs. Hodge had made it very clear that she wasnotto venture into the duke’s chambers; the entire east wing was out of bounds to her, despite being mistress of the house.
But when another low, pitiful groan reached her, the last of her uncertainty fled. If the duke was ill, he may not have anyone attending him. Surely she could not be punished for going out of her way tohelphim?
Stopping only to replace her candle with a new one, she hurried down the corridor, her candle flame dancing. As she approached, the groaning grew louder, feverish in quality. Fortunately, the door behind which the groaning emanated was unlocked, and she let herself in, acclimating to the dark light.
She was in a dressing room, well-appointed. Beyond, through an ajar door, the groaning was louder still, and accompanied by the brushing of material against itself.
The duke, presumably, tossing and turning.
Her heart in her mouth, she entered his bedchamber, her eyes going immediately to the figure on the bed. As she watched, he groaned again, evidently in pain, and tossed helplessly to the side. From here, she could see he was a large man, brought lowby fever. It was astrangesight to see such a powerful person brought low, but now that she was here, she could help.
“Fear not,” she whispered as she approached, in case he was of sound enough mind to process her arrival. Or, even, to wonder who she was.
They had not met, but even in this light, and even when he was sick with a fever, she recognized his familiar bold features. That strong jaw and aquiline nose.
“I am Aurelia, your wife.” The words felt odd to say in her mouth. “I’ve come to help.”
His eyes opened at the sound of her voice, but he looked at her unseeingly. “Kate?”
She hesitated, wondering if she had forgotten a member of staff named Kate. And, for a moment, she considered pretending shewasthem for his state of mind. The urgency with which he had looked at her—as though he wanted nothing more than for her to be this other lady…
But she couldn’t lie.
“No, Your Grace.” She placed the candle down on his bedside table and found a bowl of water left on the dresser by his valet. Finding some cloth, she dipped it in the cold water and approached the duke again, laying it gently across his forehead.
He sighed, eyes closing in relief. But his hot fingers closed around her wrist. “…why are you here, Kate?”
She knew of no one calledKate, and although she had yet to meet all the staff, she was almost certain none ofthemwere named Kate either.
“Your Grace—” she coaxed as gently as she could, “I am quite unsure as to who you’re referring to.”
