“Of course, m’lady. As you wish. It was just a bit of dusting I was doing anyway.” She saw Kenna was not paying attention to her anymore and tiptoed quietly out of the gallery.
There was a fire in the hearth and Kenna went to warm herself in front of it though she doubted she would ever feel warm again. Taking a shawl from one of the chairs she wrapped it around her shoulders and sat on the marble apron of the fireplace. There was no comfort in telling herself she shouldn’t have been listening at doors. Shehadlistened. She had heard the entire exchange between her brother and Victorine though she wished with all her heart she had been elsewhere.
So Rhys Canning wanted to marry her, did he. He was going to—what had Victorine said?—oh yes, he was going to sacrifice himself to provide for her safety. It sounded so damn noble that Kenna wanted to heave.
And who did Victorine think was going to protect her from Rhys? He was the only one she knew who presented the least bit of danger. She groaned softly at her own thoughts. Would she never be able to make up her mind about Rhys? This morning in the summerhouse she had been persuaded to believe he was innocent. Now she was not so certain that he hadn’t proposed marriage to keep her under his thumb, a sacrifice indeed. More likely he had stumbled upon some means of self-preservation. As his wife she could hardly testify against him. It was nearly as good as having her dead.
Tears swam in her eyes, spiking her thick lashes as she thought of the other things Victorine had said. Her stepmother hadn’t meant to be cruel. Kenna knew that but found it did nothing to raise her spirits. She couldn’t help but ask herself if Victorine was right. Was she a cold woman?
She had told Rhys she could never marry because of her nightmares, but perhaps it was not entirely true. Mayhap some instinct warned her she would offer very little pleasure to her husband in the marriage bed so she held fast to her nightmares, hoping they would protect her. She could not help but wonder if Rhys had thought her cold.
He said he had left her because he could not trust himself. Was it naught but a lie to set another trap? She recalled how she had been afraid of his angry kisses, how she had pushed him away when he had tried to touch her breast. Is that what made her cold? Was she then to accept whatever advances a man made toward her? It was not the sort of thing she had ever discussed with Victorine. There was never any need…until now. Kenna’s shoulders slumped as she buried her face in her hands. She was twenty-three, a veritable spinster, and she was innocent as a babe.
Thinking of a babe reminded Kenna of the nephew she had yet to see. She sniffed, taking a handkerchief from her sleeve, and blew her nose. Yvonne would explain everything to her, she was married after all and surely three children proved her husband did not find her a cold fish. Oh, please, Kenna prayed, please let her invitation arrive in the morning.
Chapter 3
Kenna spent the rest of the evening and all of the following day in her room, pleading a headache that became more of a blinding reality as time went on, Victorine swept in and out with cold compresses and words of comfort. Nick visited her twice and Kenna was hard-pressed to convince him she was not in need of a doctor. Her personal maid kept her company with a steady stream of conversation and saw to it that Kenna ate everything on her specially prepared trays. Rhys did not enter her room at all and since no one ever mentioned marriage, Kenna felt as if she had been given a reprieve. If she hadn’t felt so awful she might have enjoyed the stay of execution.
“Was there nothing for me in the post?” Kenna asked Janet on the morning of the third day. She pushed the eggs around on her plate with a listless motion.
Janet eyed Kenna’s uneaten breakfast, clucking her tongue in disapproval. “If you can’t manage the eggs, then at least drink your cocoa. Lyin’ abed like this, you need your strength. Liable to waste away, you will.”
Kenna knew there was nothing for it but to drink the hot cocoa. Janet would go on and on until she got what she wanted. With a long-suffering sigh Kenna brought the warm mug to her lips and held back a grimace when she tasted the drink. Kenna thought it could have used a bit more sugar, but in the interest of peace in the kitchen she hesitated to tell Janet. Her maid would give Dunnelly’s thin-skinned chef a lecture and no one would eat this evening.
Janet fairly beamed with satisfaction as Kenna drank. “I believe you asked about the post. I can check with Henderson again, of course, but he didn’t give me anything for you. Oh dear, such a long face!”
Kenna gave her maid a tiny smile. “I was hoping to hear from Yvonne.”
“Ah,” Janet said knowingly. “And you’re disappointed, I’m sorry. Mayhap there will be something in the next mail.”
“Perhaps.” But she was not hopeful. She finished the last of her drink and set the mug aside, pushing the tray toward Janet. “I really don’t want another thing.”
“Still not feeling all of one piece, are we? Shall I fetch another compress?”
Kenna laid her head back on her pillow as Janet took away the tray. What had begun as a dull throbbing in her temples had gradually become a violently sharp pain behind her eyes. The ache was so relentless that she was beginning to feel ill. “I think I’ll just sleep a while,” said Kenna. “I’m certain I’ll be better this afternoon.” She closed her eyes and slipped one hand beneath her pillow as she very gently turned on her side. “Shut the drapes, Janet. The light is bothersome.”
A frown wrinkled Janet’s brow as she looked at her mistress’s pale face. After a moment she pulled the drapes closed and soundlessly left the room.
Kenna slept until midday when she was awakened by severe cramping in her stomach. Necessity made her push herself out of bed and stagger toward the chamber pot, making it just in time to heave what little she had eaten for breakfast. Afterward she cooled her face and rinsed her mouth at the porcelain bowl on the wash stand, then stumbled back to bed. She lay on top of the comforter, too weak to crawl beneath it and too fatigued to care.
Victorine found Kenna still curled on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest, when she brought lunch. “Dieu!Kenna, what is wrong?” She hurried over to the bed, setting aside a tray of broth and warm bread. She felt Kenna’s forehead with the back of her hand. “You don’t have a fever,ma petite chou. Here, let me help you under the covers. You’re shivering.”
Kenna allowed herself to be prodded and coaxed under the comforter. “My head aches abominably,” she admitted wearily. “And I hurt everywhere.”
Nick stepped into the room, followed by Rhys. “I’m sending for the doctor,” he said. His tone clearly meant he would not be gainsaid.
“There’s no need,” Kenna protested, though she merely mouthed the sentiment out of habit.
“There’s every need.” It was Rhys who spoke with conviction as he stepped past Nick, taking in Kenna’s white complexion and the pained glaze in her eyes.
Kenna shut her eyes so she would not have to see Rhys’s thorough examination of her face. She snuggled deeper into the comforter to hide her flushed cheeks. “Go away,” she said sharply, then, to take the sting from her words, she added, “I want to expire in peace.”
“That’s not amusing,” Rhys said. He touched Nick’s shoulder. “I am going to send a servant for the doctor.” He saw the tray on Kenna’s bedside table. “I’ll take this out. She doesn’t look as if she could eat a thing.”
Kenna was grateful for the removal of the tray. The cloying odor of the chicken broth was making her stomach churn.
“She must eat something,” Victorine said, a frown playing about her mouth. “You can see for yourself that she’s as weak as a kitten.”
