“Grace has been apprenticing with Dr. Barkley in Glencoe since we returned from Italy. She even attended with the doctor who treated Aunt Belle.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Grace is quite knowledgeable when it comes to sickbeds.”
Arabella gently moved Faith’s feet beneath the covers, tucking her in like a frail child. She sat on the bed just as Jaco leaped up onto the mattress.
“Jaco! No. Get down.”
“Oh, it’s all right, I suppose,” Faith said, though she inched away. “I don’t mind.”
“But Logan said you were terrified of dogs.”
Faith looked at Arabella, somewhat surprised. Why would Logan tell her that?
“I’m not terrified of dogs,” she began. “I just find that the larger the dog, the more frightening they are.”
Jaco crossed his arms and laid his head down just below her hip. He nuzzled her slightly, but she didn’t touch him. Nor did she move away.
“Jaco is nothing but a sweetheart,” Arabella said, patting the reclining dog on the back. “But tell me more about your sister.That is fascinating that those doctors would let a woman practice medicine beneath them. Is it not a male profession? Wouldn’t she find more success as a nurse?”
“It certainly would be easier for her, but Grace is determined. And she is quite proficient, I assure you. Which is why I really must return home.”
She tried to hoist herself up but was too weak to do so. Arabella gave her a pleading look.
“Please, Faith. You must stay. I should hate to think that we weren’t able to at least tend to you while you were sick. And I’m sure your sisters would want you to remain in comfort.” She pressed the back of her hand to Faith’s forehead. “You are burning up.”
Faith knew that once her sisters were made aware of her condition, they would likely become amused to learn that she was going to be staying at Harris House, with her comfort under the control of Logan—the very man Faith had often complained about.
But she was ill, and her headache seemed to double whenever she moved. She dreaded even the thought of taking a carriage ride home, but to stay here? Which would be worse?
“I don’t wish to be a bother…”
Arabella smiled.
“No bother at all. You shall remain here until your fever subsides. In the meantime, we will keep you well fed and warm and in good company when you are able to have it.”
Arabella’s kindness seemed to be also prompted by an eagerness. Faith wondered if she had many friends but knew to ask would be rude.
“Thank you,” she said quietly before adding. “Although, I don’t think your brother will be much pleased.”
“Logan would be far more upset to learn that you died on the way home than that you remained here, staying in bed,” shesaid, but Faith doubted it. “Besides, he has just left and likely won’t even be aware of your staying here.”
Faith’s gaze snapped to Arabella’s face.
“Oh?”
“Yes, he had some sort of business in Glasgow that needed his attention. He will be gone for at least four days. And I’m sure you will be healthy by then.”
“One hopes.”
But as the day carried on, Faith only felt herself grow worse. It was outrageous that such a silly thing as a storm could cause her to be so unwell, and she was frustrated with herself for getting into such a situation. How had she allowed herself to become sick? She usually had such a strong constitution. And why did it have to be at Harris House? Even without Logan there, she felt his presence all around her. It was as if she could just close her eyes and imagine him standing beside her.
With eyes purposely open, Faith examined the painting that hung on the opposite wall, just above the fireplace. She knew Logan must have picked it out specifically for this room, as he likely had for all the artwork in the house. It was a river landscape painting by Theodore Rousseau, and it looked as though it was one of his earlier works. Faith had noted it the moment she had first entered the room yesterday. Rousseau was a realism painter from the Romantic movement, and while his talent could not be denied, Faith had always felt despondent when admiring his work.
Rousseau’s pieces felt inherently sad to Faith and she wondered why Logan would display such a heavy piece in a guest room. Wouldn’t a host want to convey a cheerful, peaceful kind of atmosphere? But perhaps Logan liked the work, even though the bleak skies seemed to hold a sense of dread about them. Or perhaps it merely seemed that way because she was feeling so ill.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep through the fever, only to be awakened hours later, in the dark, to the cold touch of a feminine hand. Startled, she jumped, then groaned at the ache that had settled into her joints. She hurt all over.
