In between dressing, a tray of food arrived, and Felicity consumed more than she had in some time, then went back to dressing.
Her fiancé would be arriving soon, and she would be dressed and ready when he arrived. Even though it was expected of a lady, she had absolutely no interest whatsoever in making him wait.
“Areyou quite certain I’m not dead?” Mantis collapsed face-down on his bed. He’d never felt this sick in all his life.
“I’m fairly certain you yet live,” Cornell answered.
Sometime just before sundown, after a less than restful night, Mantis had expelled the very last contents of his stomach. The ensuing violent heaving, however, had him wishing himself unconscious.
“No one else is ill?” he asked his valet again, thinking he must have eaten something that had turned. If that was the case, Felicity could be ill as well.
“Not since the last time I checked. I asked Mr. Mortimer to inform me at once if anyone else fell ill.”
Mr. Mortimer was his father’s butler. Mantis needed to know about the Brightley household. “Check on my fiancée.” He barely managed to get the words out.
Perspiration broke out on his forehead even as an icy chill swept through him. Cornell pulled up the counterpane. “I’ll send a manservant.”
“She’s expecting me today.” As much as Mantis wished to be with her, he could barely manage to sit upright, let alone squire them around the shops. Damn it. This would be the second time he failed to meet her as promised. “Send my apologies.”
What the hell had he eaten? Even on those occasions when he’d drunk himself stupid, he’d never felt this wretched.
“I’ve also sent for a physician.” Cornell tucked the cover around Mantis’ shoulders. Ridiculous for a grown man to huddle in bed like this.
“Send my apologies…” Had he said that already? “Bond Street shopping.”
“Of course. I’ll make certain she knows. Perhaps after you’ve slept you could scribble her a personal note, my lord.”
My Lord, not ape-witted grunt, or addlepated skinflint. Was that apprehension in his valet’s voice? “Next time you wake, you can try keeping some tea down.”
His last attempt at swallowing anything had ended most unfortunately. Mantis didn’t nod, only mumbled.
Nothing to worry about. This would pass—damn his eyes. Mantis wasn’t about to allow a little food poisoning to result in his untimely demise. He would sleep it off.
Felicity and their child needed him.
Mantis was going to be a father and a husband. Furthermore, tomorrow he’d escort her to Vauxhall where he would dance with her and then take her walking on one of the darker paths.
Perhaps he would whisper that he was kidnapping her and then ravish her against a tree… He fell into a restless sleep, a sleep in which his dreams felt like nightmares and nightmares like death.
“If he doesn’t improve by morning, I’ll bleed him.” Mantis woke to an unfamiliar voice speaking over him. “But he’s no longer burning up.”
“Like a damn horse, he is.” This voice, his father’s. “Bleed him anyway.”
Of course, his father would presume to know more than a physician. Mantis forced his eyes to open. Darkness had fallen and a single branch of candles cast tall shadows on the wall.
His head still ached, and his body hurt all over, but, he pushed himself up to sit, his stomach wasn’t burning.
“I’m fine.” Although his mouth felt like a desert. “Water.”
“A good sign, my lord.” Mantis opened his eyes and recognized a doctor who had attended to his younger half-brother. Poor Conner fell ill at least once a year.
His father crossed the room and poured out a drink from Mantis’ private decanter. “This will get you moving.”
Mantis was already shaking his head. “God, no. Water, I think. And toast.”
“Right here.” Cornell, who’d been hovering near the door, leaped into action. Judging by the looks of his valet, the man had not had an easy time of it either.
The physician, meanwhile, was opening a satchel that revealed a collection of treacherous-looking instruments.
