She blushed again, maddeningly adorable. “Well, you have given me three days to improve your sister’s health, so I had best be about my business.” She whirled, skirts swishing as she strode to the door.
“Juliet?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Is your aunt certain those medicinals will help Charity?” He nodded towards the basket.
“As certain as one can be. But I know you are a man of faith, so a little prayer would be welcome as well.”
And just like that she was gone, leaving behind her ever-present scent of rosemary and crushed leaves.
Henry rounded his desk and dropped into his chair, spent. Had he done the right thing in allowing her to administer such tonics and powders to his sister? Dr. Branch certainly hadn’t agreed with him. The man’s righteous indignation at being asked to pause his ministrations still burned his ears.
Yet if he could not trust Juliet—the extraordinary woman who’d snared his heart so thoroughly—then what future could they possibly have?
Chapter 19
For the first time in five days, Juliet fully relaxed against the soft cushions of the sitting room chair … but that did not stop her from keeping a watchful eye on Charity. It was, after all, the woman’s first excursion from her bedroom since taking ill. She appeared of fair colour, sitting so prettily on the sofa in a ray of afternoon sunshine, and for that, Juliet’s heart smiled. How good it was to see Henry’s sister back amongst the living. Her light laughter at whatever Clara had whispered was sweet to Juliet’s ears.
Shifting on the cushion, she allowed the bulk of her fears to melt away. The past days had blurred into a collection of sleepless nights and endless ministrations of Aunt Margaret’s tonics. Thankfully, after the grueling first twenty-four hours, Charity’s fever had broken. She’d steadily strengthened since then, so much so that today she’d ventured downstairs.
Henry stood near a writing desk, eyeing his sister. It hadn’t been easy on him, fretting over her while working to carry out his father’s business, but he’d done so without complaint.
Clara perched next to Charity, hands folded in her lap. While she chatted about the latest fashion, Clara kept her own sort of vigil, studying Henry’s sister as well. Clara appeared as polished as ever, but beneath it all, Juliet sensed her concern too.
When Clara’s conversation lulled and the room fell silent, Charity tilted her head, gaze bouncing between them. “All right,you three. While I appreciate your care, you must stop it. Every one of you.”
Clara pressed her fingers against Charity’s sleeve. “Stop what, darling?”
“You are all looking at me as if I shall break into a million pieces right here on the sofa. I assure you I am fine. A little fatigued, perhaps, but otherwise of sound mind and body.”
Juliet smoothed her skirt, caught in the act but not repentant. “It was not so very long ago you were lying abed giving us a fright. In light of that, you shall have to put up with our furrowed brows for at least several more days.”
“Juliet is right.” Henry took the chair adjacent the sofa. “We are happy to see you up and about but do not wish you to overdo it.”
Charity shook her head. “I cannot overdo anything beneath your watchful eye, Brother. But I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Ahh, but it is not my eye you should fear. Juliet was most diligent this past week. Administering tonics. Mixing powders. Spoon-feeding you and dabbing away your fever with a cool cloth. Your illness did not stand a chance under her tender care.” A flash of appreciation sharpened the green in his grey eyes. “Remind me, Juliet, to call upon you next time I take ill.”
Her mouth dried, her tongue lying fallow. How was she to speak when he looked at her that way?
Clara rose, rounding the sofa while running her finger along the back of it. “Indeed. Juliet’s hidden talents are enviable. Though I daresay I have spent more than my fair share of time in my mother’s sickroom the past month, what with her horrid megrims. I don’t know how many trips to the apothecary I’ve made. But …” Her lips quirked. “Do be careful, Juliet. Henry just might devise an ailment merely for the attention.”
Henry chuckled. “Now there is a capital idea. Perhaps I shall take to my bed.”
Charity reached for a nearby pillow and hugged it. “Let us have no more talk of sickness, though I admit lying about gave me much time to think. And in that time, I came to a conclusion … that there was no place I would rather be than here at Bedford Manor with all of you. Please don’t get the wrong impression. I love Father and dearly wish to see him, but he will eventually return, and I shall see him then.”
Henry straightened, tension creeping into his frame. “You may be out of the woods fever-wise, but there is still danger here for you.”
Clara glanced sharply over her shoulder. “What danger are you talking about?”
Henry tugged at his collar. “What I mean to say is that there is still the fact that a holiday—particularly now—would do my sister good.”
Charity shook her head, her golden curls—once so vibrant—now limply swinging against her neck. “I am quite adamant about this, Brother, so do not vex me.”
“He has a point, though, darling,” Clara said. “The Italian weather is far more conducive to healing than this chill and damp. Why, I have a brilliant idea!” She clapped her hands. “Since I cannot accompany you to Italy, why doesn’t Juliet travel along? Then you would not feel so lonesome. There. Problem solved.”
Juliet’s gaze shot to Henry. Would he send them both away, make her Charity’s guardian on the journey? To leave Bedford Manor now, to leave him, well … the very thought made her heart sink.
