Does she despise me more than she already did?For Henry’s part, he could still feel the shape of her in his arms, the soft warmth of her, and the way she had seemed to lean back into him. Melting into him, almost. It had been unexpected. At the time, it had felt remarkable, but now it rather felt like trouble.
Thiswas why he was supposed to keep his distance. Otherwise, he stood to upset the delicate balance of their somewhat unusual marriage, changing the terms of a deal that had served them well enough for four years. And he was not someone who broke promises.
Baxter seemed uncomfortable, which was strange for a man who, in most things, was unflappable. “Very pale, Your Grace. I believe she is suffering some manner of headache.” He paused. “Mrs. Fisher is taking care of her now, and chicken soup has been ordered from the kitchens. There was talk of the physician, but the duchess has refused.”
“A headache?” Henry frowned.
He had seen her leave the boathouse; he had watched her from beneath the willow tree. She had seemed in good health, wearing a dry dress, nothing out of the ordinary. Had he missed something?
Shewasin the boathouse for rather a long time,he realized, but the boathouse was also a part of their deal; it was one place he was not permitted to enter. Sometimes, it was where she went when he was in residence, like a small home away from the manor. Away from him.
Perhaps, he should have slackened that rule, seeing as she likely did not remember it.
“Send for the physician anyway,” he instructed, wondering if it was truly a headache or if it was an excuse to keep him at bay.
As if that would notencourageme, more like.No matter their arrangement, nothing would be able to prevent him from racing to her side if she needed him, if she was in some peril.
“You do not wish to attend to her?” Baxter asked, his tone a little surprised.
Henry hesitated. “I suppose I should.” A groan caught the back of his throat. “But James and Frances are due to arrive at any moment. You see,thisis why I prefer to be absent from society; it is nothing but trouble afterward.”
“Shall I send them away?” Baxter said.
For a moment, Henry was tempted, but he had been a bad cousin in recent years and, despite his protests to the contrary, he had rather liked seeing them at the ball. A reminder of the better portion of old times: the summers where all four cousins spent weeks together at Holdridge or Weverton; games at Eton where he and James were on the same side; the support of James when Walter was being particularly obnoxious.
“No, I shall greet them and explain,” Henry replied. “By then, the physician will probably be here.”
Thalia will not want to see me, anyway, whether it is a real headache or not.He would just have to ask the physician what the matter was, after the fact, and hope it wasnotsomething he had missed by the lake.
Just then, he heard the crunching rattle of a carriage approaching. Padding over to the tower window to look out at the driveway, he recognized it immediately.
“They are here,” he muttered, knowing that Thalia’s absence was not going to go down well at all with Frances.
“What do you mean, she is unwell?” Frances cried, jumping up from the drawing room settee in indignation. “What manner of ailment? Is it that headache again? Well, I must see her at once. It must be very serious indeed if she will not come down to see me.”
Henry had to put himself in front of the drawing room door to prevent her. “The physician is on his way, and my wife has asked that she not be disturbed. Yes, it is that headache again, so she does not need you chattering away at her, making it worse.”
He felt a little guilty for that, as he did about telling a white lie in regard to Thalia asking to be left alone. The housekeeper, Mrs. Fisher, was the one who had demanded complete rest and peace for Thalia. She, herself, probably would not have minded having the company of her best friend.
“Now, you listen to me,” Frances urged, pointing a finger, “I know there is something more to this. I know there is more to this that no one is telling me. I cannot understand why Thalia will not tell me, but youmust; it is a rule of blood. Family cannot lie to one another.”
Somewhat thrown by his cousin’s perceptiveness, it took a moment for Henry to school his expression into one of blank calm. Or what he hoped was blank calm, at least.
“It is just a headache,” he insisted. “It is all in hand.”
From his seat at the other end of the settee, James muttered in a stern voice, “Would you sit down, Frances. Henry is right; the duchess does not need you making her feel worse by fussing over her. If a physician has been sent for, then there is nothing else to be done.” He paused. “But you would tell us if anything was wrong with Thalia, would you not?”
“Of course,” Henry lied.
James gave a small nod, but something in his face suggested he did not fully believe it. “Is she with-child?”
“No, nothing of the sort,” Henry answered, perhaps too quickly, still remembering howrighthis wife had felt in his arms. How, for a few moments, all the years they had spent apart seemed like a terrible waste.
Snatching up a teacup, Frances flopped back down onto the settee. “Well, I am still worried for her. You say it is nothing more than another headache, butIhave noticed some disconcerting changes in her lately.” She took a sip of her drink. “Yes, it worries me greatly.”
“What sort of changes?” James asked, as he reached for a raspberry cream puff.
Satisfied that Frances would not attempt to barge out of the room, Henry went to perch on the opposite settee. Intrigued to hear what his cousin had noticed.
