“Blancmange?” James grimaced. “Being temporarily indisposed does not make me an infant.”
The fact that he could complain about the menu was a positive sign. He’d always been specific in his preferences, especially when it came to food. The return of her husband—her honorable, stoic, exacting spouse—made her feel almost giddy.
“The doctor advised bland foods to start,” she said. “Perhaps buttered toast would be more agreeable?”
“God, yes.”
He said it with such feeling that she laughed.
“Beef tea and toast, then.” She couldn’t resist brushing a bronze lock from his forehead. “Would you like anything else?”
“Actually.” He cleared his throat. “I could use the necessary.”
“Shall I summon Robson?—”
“I can handle it myself. It’s only a few steps, and getting up will do me good.”
Evie hastened to help him sit up. Seeing how much the effort cost him, she again suggested ringing for his valet. Instead, the stubborn man got to his feet and immediately swayed. She ducked under his arm to steady him.
“I’ve got you,” she said. “Are you certain you can do this?”
“Bloody certain.” He clenched his jaw in that determined way of his. “I’m going to the commode, not Timbuktu.”
Well, that’s that, I suppose.
Once James decided upon a course of action, he was like a dog with a bone.
He regained his balance and made it to the commode cabinet behind the dressing screen without issue. Afterward, he insisted on doing his ablutions at the washstand, brushing his teeth and splashing water on his face. When he started fussing about finding his shaving implements, she drew the line.
“The shave can wait,” she said firmly. “Robson will assist you with that later, when you’re steadier on your feet. For now, back to bed.”
He grumbled, but the fact that he acquiesced spoke volumes about how he was feeling. Once he was settled again, she fluffed his pillows and pulled the coverlet over him.
“I shall send for what you need and let the others know you’re awake. They’ve been ever so concerned. I’ll be right back?—”
As she made to leave, he caught her hand.
“You look tired.”
Flustered by his perusal, she tried not to squirm. She knew she did not look her best. She’d had little rest and hadn’t looked in a mirror in days.
“I haven’t slept well,” she mumbled.
“You’ve been here with me, haven’t you? I heard you.”
With sudden panic, she tried to recall what she might have said when she thought he was comatose. When anxiety and exhaustion had lowered her defenses and led her to pour out her heart. Her memory was a blur of desperate thoughts and frantic rambling, and she couldn’t definitively separate the two.
Merciful petals, did I bargain with God aloud? When I prayed, did I name my sins? Did James hear me…does he know that I did something terrible?
“I was here.” Her heart racing, she wetted her lips. “You were, um, feverish most of the time, and I didn’t think you could hear me.”
“I don’t recall your precise words, but I felt your presence. Your support by my side.” He squeezed her hand, his eyes the tender shade of the horizon at dawn. “Even half out of my mind, I knew you were looking after me. You gave me strength, and I wanted to thank you.”
“I am your wife.” Emotion clogged her throat. “You don’t have to thank me. It is my duty to look after you.”
“Duty. Of course.”
She couldn’t bear his disappointment, the return of the flint in his eyes.
