And to think he had considered that his return to England would be a holiday of sorts…
The discomfort fromthe venom hadn’t faded as quickly as Cecily had hoped. After experiencing some relief from the medicine and the poultice Stephen had sent up, Cecily slept, but only in small increments and not very satisfactorily. Alternating between achiness, nausea and a fever that came and went, she was acutely uncomfortable for the next couple of days.
And once she did begin to feel better, she continued to be plagued by a relentless fatigue, which kept her from resuming her normal activities and plans. Sitting in her room, she had far too much time on her hands. Unable to read, because of the nausea, all Cecily could do was ponder her situation — ponder what she had been doing and what she ought to do from now on.
She’d made love with Stephen and now feared that she might actually be fallingin lovewith him. Stephen was everything that Flavion was not. And Flavion was everything that Stephen was not — most ironically, her husband.
Might Stephen feel similarly toward her?
She knew that he was physically attracted to her. He’d shown her… He’d made her feel… special, desirable… And it seemed as though he cared about her. But she could not forget what he’d told her that night in the garden, that he felt it was his responsibility to watch out for and protect Flave’s wife.
Ah, yes, that gigantic sense of responsibility would rear its ugly head once again.
Was that what his actions were all about? Was he merelytaking care of her for Flave?
Cecily dismissed that thought.
He was also an honorable man. He was not a man to consider adultery lightly.
Was he, even now, feeling a great deal of remorse over making love to her, his cousin’s wife?
Sighing up at the ceiling, Cecily speculated that this, most likely, was the case. For since she’d taken ill, he’d only visited while her maid was present, and on each of those occasions, he had acted with the utmost of propriety.
Which was the appropriate thing to do.
Damn it.
Cecily rolled over and groaned into her pillow.
Oh, she wished she’d had a mother to guide her where matters of the heart were concerned. Cecily had never met her mother, who’d died upon her birth, but in her imagination, she conjured up a pretty, understanding, and comforting woman. Someone who could have helped her now.
Perhaps her mother would have seen through Flavion’s lies and helped guide her toward a more sensible choice. Surely, her mother would have recognized Flavion’s charm and flash for what it was. A mother would not have allowed Cecily’s father to post such an exorbitant dowry, which had only succeeded in attracting the most greedy and desperate of fortune hunters. If only…
On the other hand, a mother would perhaps not approve of Cecily’s behavior with Stephen. But could a mother help her to understand these feelings she had for him?
She felt a little forlorn. He’d not shown her any affection since the day she’d fallen ill.
Oh, fiddlesticks!
In frustration, she punched the pillow with her good hand.
Surely he didn’t wish to scrap their plan! To heck with their plan. Why had he made himself so scarce?
Unable to bear her confinement one moment longer, she kicked the covers off and threw her legs over the side of the bed. She would bathe, dress in one of her prettiest new morning gowns, and have Sally fix her hair.
She stood up abruptly, swayed for a moment, and then pulled on the bell rope. Although disapproving, her maid drew her bath and then assisted Cecily in dressing.
It did help, as she felt somewhat more herself afterward. Admiring the gown in her looking glass, she dismissed the maid and reached for her reticule. The swelling on her left hand had diminished mostly, but it had been enough of a hindrance that she’d not written any notes to her friends. Sally could not write, and Cecily did not wish to upset the household by demanding one of the other servants pen her notes for her. She also didn’t wish to share her thoughts with someone whom she was not all that well-acquainted.
Therefore, she’d had no contact whatsoever with any of her friends since the adder attack. She didn’t even know if they were aware of what had happened!
If she remembered correctly, Emily’s mother normally hosted an at home on Tuesday afternoons. It was early still and, if Cecily was quick about it, she could arrive just in time to catch up with her friends.
So, with her reticule in hand, Cecily exited her room for the first time in nearly a week. She would ask Mr. Sherman to order the carriage brought about.
She wondered how Sophia was making out with Lord Harold. And what had Rhoda and Emily been up to these past few days? What must they think had become of her?
Cecily made her way very slowly down the corridor, a little perplexed with herself that she could tire so easily. Coming upon a bench, which she’d never before considered to be very useful in its placement, Cecily gratefully sat down upon it.
