Thankfully the footman arrived bearing a large silver tray. He placed it on the table nearest Juliet, then retreated to take up a post near the door.
Clara, mercifully distracted by the scent of souchong tea, clasped her hands primly in her lap. “Ahh, tea at last. Juliet, would you mind?”
Her? She flexed her fingers, startled by the request. Usually Charity would serve, being the lady of the manor, which naturally would be too much to ask of her during her recuperation. But then Clara—being a long-standing friend—should have enjoyed the privilege. Why would the woman abdicate? Then again, with the bottle of Aunt Margaret’s tincture on the tea tray, it only made sense that she’d know how many drops to use.
She smiled. “I would be happy to.”
She poured the first cup, the strong scent of a very dark tea wafting to her nostrils. As such, she only filled the cup by half, then added a liberal dose of the tonic. Crossing over to Charity, she handed her the brew.
“Thank you.” Charity smiled as she took the saucer.
“Oh, darling, your shawl. Let me adjust it.” Rising, Clara set aside Charity’s tea then fussed with the woman’s wrap.
Juliet returned to the tea table, and by the time she poured the next cup, Clara had resumed her seat near Henry.
“Thank you, Juliet.” Clara gracefully accepted her tea, her lips pursing ever so slightly as she blew away the steam.
When Juliet passed a cup to Henry, his fingers brushed like a whisper against hers, and a thrill charged up her arm. A knowing gleam lit in his eyes.
She turned away, determined to keep her composure. After pouring herself a cup, she returned to her chair, but one sip was all it took for her to set it aside for now. It was far too hot. She preferred her brew tepid—a trait that often earned her teasing from Aunt Margaret.
Charity sipped her tea diligently, while Clara rested her cup and saucer in her lap, leaning towards Henry. “So, how is the business for your father coming along?”
“Slower than I would like.” His shoulders slumped somewhat from the weight of his responsibilities; then he slugged back the rest of his drink and set it down. “I am sure my father is having fits over the delays—not to mention Charity’s illness—but neither could be helped.”
“But that is all in the past. Your sister is clearly on the mend, and I am certain you shall be victorious no matter the amount of heel dragging from shippers or warehouses or whatever else it is you are dealing with.” She fluttered her fingers in the air.
While Henry and Clara continued conversing, Juliet absently stirred her tea. Though she hated to admit it, Clara’s encouragement had seemed to lift some of Henry’s burden. Truly, she ought not feel jealous.
But she did.
Charity’s teacup clinked against the saucer, drawing her attention. Henry’s sister sat very still, and though her grip appeared loose on the cup, her knuckles paled. Egads! Her face seemed more drained as well.
“Charity?” Juliet set her spoon aside and leaned forwards. “Are you all right?”
A small smile ghosted her lips. “I am fine.”
Soothing words, but Juliet suspected them to be a lie. She studied the woman, Clara and Henry oblivious to what was only a gut feeling inside Juliet. Was Charity on the verge of a relapse or was she merely becoming fatigued?
Charity swayed aside, setting her saucer down overly harsh, the porcelain clattering on the small table.
That did it.
Rising, Juliet crossed to the sofa and sat beside her. “Now that you have finished your tea, how about I see you back to your room?”
“Not yet, I think.” Charity pressed a hand to her belly. “I should like to rest here a bit and digest my drink before going up.”
“Very well,” she acquiesced, though she determined to stay by Charity’s side.
The footman appeared, bowing politely. “Finished with your tea, miss?”
Charity nodded slightly, eyelids fluttering as if she could barely keep them open.
“Yes, she is, thank you,” Juliet answered for her, alarm a prickle down her spine. “Charity, I fear you have overdone it today. Let me ask Henry to help you upstairs, hmm?”
Charity’s head lolled. “Yes, I think that would be—”
She collapsed against the sofa, body going slack.
