“After our last separation? Tell anyone who asks that I’m your betrothed, Mr. Aster.”
She bit her lip. She didn’t like the idea of lying to Martha.
“Really, I’m sure the farm is safe.”
The main house looked quite cheerful, with stone masonry and a chimney that released optimistic little puffs of smoke. Although, she reflected, she had just mistaken the same for safety less than an hour ago.
“I’ll ask the proprietors if I can speak with Martha and will be out as soon as I can.”
He shook his head. “Not a chance.”
Looking into his face, she saw that he was resolute. His mouth was pressed into a tight thin line. Besides, she was shaky after what happened—she didn’t exactly relish going into another uncharted territory alone, no matter how benign-looking.
“All right. Come on then.”
When they knocked on the farmhouse door, a neat-looking woman in a white cap answered. She didn’t seem older than twenty but she must have been wiser than her years. Catherine noticed how she knew on sight that John wasn’t an ordinary caller. She saw him and fell into a deep curtsey. Looking back up at him, the good wife flashed her dimples. She was very pretty, Catherine thought, and wondered if John noticed.
“Good day, sir, ma’am.” She sent a little curtsey Catherine’s way as well. “How may I help you? I am Mrs. Jennings—this is my husband’s farm.”
“Is Martha Denney here? We heard in town that she is residing with you due to the highwaymen.”
“Yes, my lady.” Mrs. Jennings nodded, a little cloud coming over her face. “We all love Martha here and are glad to have her. She and my grandmum were girls together. But she isn’t quite well. I can take you to her, ma’am but she may be sleepin’. She is staying in one of the servant’s rooms. They don’t think she’ll last many more nights.”
“Is she still conscious?” John asked.
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Jennings, with a laugh. “Same old talkative Martha when she’s awake. If you would like to see her, I can take you to her room.”
Catherine nodded and they followed her into the farmhouse, through its pretty parlor room, and up the stairs that led to the servants’ rooms. When they reached a room at the end of the hallway, Mrs. Jennings knocked on a door.
“Martha?”
There was no answer.
“She’s probably asleep,” Mrs. Jennings said, opening the door and disappearing into the room.
A moment later, Mrs. Jennings reappeared. “Right this way, ma’am.”
Catherine followed her into the room but John caught her wrist. Even with her nervousness at seeing Martha coursing through her, his touch sent trills of pleasure up her arm.
“I’ll wait here. I don’t want to disturb her with a stranger.”
A shard of warmth pierced her heart. He was a duke, looking for information he dearly wanted. Many men in his shoes wouldn’t care about the sensitivities of a poor old woman.
“I’ll be here if you need anything.”
She nodded in return, swallowing the lump in her throat.
Catherine followed Mrs. Jennings into the room and saw Martha sleeping in a little bed in the corner. As she approached, her eyelids fluttered open. Catherine remembered how, when she was a girl, Martha had been a light sleeper. Whenever she had hoped to sneak past her sleeping form to run down to the kitchens for a treat, she would snap awake. The memory made her smile.
“Child?” Martha said confusedly, looking at Mrs. Jennings and then at Catherine.
Mrs. Jennings turned to Catherine. “I’ll leave you two—please ring the bell if you need anything.”
“Thank you for your trouble.”
Mrs. Jennings nodded, gave a little curtsey, and left the room.
Catherine sat in the chair next to Martha’s bed and took her hand.
