“And at one point you physically restrained him.”
“She observed only one,” Griffin said, and let it end at that. “Did you leave her with another vial of laudanum?”
“She had enough left from my previous visit.”
Griffin nodded, not surprised. “I thought she might. There is nothing physically wrong with her, then.”
“Not a thing.”
“She was so cold.”
Pettibone nodded. “You were right to send for me.”
“You will always say that. You enjoy my whiskey.”
“Guilty.” He made the pronouncement in judge-like tones. In a less stentorian fashion, he went on. “The manner in which you described finding her after her brother left, well, it put me in mind of some of the soldiers I had occasion to observe in the aftermath of battle. What they had seen, or heard, or learned, created a disturbance so profound that they could no longer communicate. They lay like the dead, often staring out at nothing the rest of us could see. I do not know where Miss Cole’s imaginings took her, but it was not a journey, nor a destination, for the faint of heart.”
“What is to be done?”
“You mentioned intentions toward her, I believe.”
“Yes.”
“May I assume they include caring for her?”
“Yes.”
“Then that is what is to be done.”
Griffin nodded, sighed. “It frequently troubles me that I pay you for such advice.”
Griffin quietly let himself into Olivia’s room. His caution was unnecessary. She was sitting at the table, playing solitaire. Wisps of steam rose faintly from the cup of tea near her elbow. Three fingers of toast lay on a plate beside the cup, one with evidence that a bite had been taken from the crusty end. Crumbs littered the plate, giving him hope that the toast had once numbered four fingers.
“Winning?” he asked. He noticed that his voice had not startled her, proof that she’d sensed his presence even though he knew his entry had been silent.
Olivia shrugged and did not look up. “When I cheat.”
“Doesn’t that belittle the achievement?”
“It is solitaire, my lord. Just now, I merely want to win.”
He understood the need. “You are feeling more the thing?”
“I was never unwell.”
Griffin did not argue the point. It was a matter of perspective, he supposed. “May I join you?”
“You already have.”
Because there was no other chair in the room similar to the one in which she sat, Griffin drew the wing chair closer to the table, turned it sideways, and perched on the arm. He stretched his legs diagonally under the table and folded his arms comfortably across his chest.
She glanced up as she gathered the cards. “You have nothing you wish to say?”
“Not just at the moment, no.”
Olivia considered and accepted it. She shuffled, laid the cards out, then began to play. She made her moves quickly, seeing the whole of the game at once and recalling what cards would be turned over as she went through the deck three cards at a time.
“Your hands are lovely,” he said.
