The truth was, I could barely stand. I might appear cool and collected, but I shook deep inside myself and my stomach roiled.
Bartholomew’s mouth fell open. “’Struth, sir.”
“Bloody hell,” came Brewster’s rumble. “This is why I don’t ever let you out of me sight. You always find trouble.”
“So it seems,” I managed to say. “But I am to bed, and we will speak later. Please do not wake her ladyship, and do not mention this to the rest of the household.”
Bartholomew, though he remained worried, nodded. “Yes, sir.” He stood back to let me climb the stairs.
Brewster scowled and plunked himself upon a delicate bench in the cream-colored front hall. “I’ll wait.”
I left him there, too weary to argue. I sensed Bartholomew full of questions as we ascended to the upper floor, but as I was growing more ill by the moment, I could not rationally discuss anything.
I’d scarcely reached my chamber at the top of the stairs before I vomited all I had into the basin in the corner. Bartholomew did not hide his dismay, but he was there with a towel before I could soil my clothing.
He had me undressed quickly and bundled into bed. For the first time since we’d arrived, I was grateful my wife had insisted on separate bedchambers, though I suspected her need for privacy stemmed the fact that I rose too early for her liking and had a tendency to snore.
Bartholomew shoved a goblet under my nose and told me to drink. The last thing I wanted was brandy, but I obeyed, conceding that the burning liquid eased my stomach a trifle.
Only a trifle. I was still queasy when Bartholomew settled the blankets over me, but also exhausted. I dropped off quickly, and dreamed of the dead Colonel Isherwood pursuing me through garish rooms of the Pavilion with a bloody sword.
* * *
I hadno idea how long I slept. I drifted in and out, my dreams troubling.
I fancied I saw faces above me after Isherwood’s faded—Bartholomew mostly, but then Grenville, Brewster, and Donata.
Beautiful Donata. I reached for her, reasoning I’d feel better against her softness. She wore a large cap, very unlike her usual affairs, but it looked fetching on her. Before I could touch her, however, her hair changed to long locks of lush gold, her smile wide and unreal. That face became the one of the actress Marianne Simmons, who’d once lived upstairs from me, her sharp eyes holding disapproval.
You’re a lazy lie-abed, you know, she informed me.What are you going to do about this, Lacey?
When I at last swam to my senses, the light in the windows was weak, but my head had cleared somewhat. I sat up.
At once, Bartholomew swiftly entered the chamber. “Feeling better, are we, Captain?” he asked in overly bright tones.
I rubbed my chin, finding it rough with whiskers. “I am, thank you. Restless night, but I might as well rise. What does my wife have scheduled for me to do this morning?”
Bartholomew gave me a startled glance but moved to the basin and began clinking shaving things onto a tray. The sound was loud to my addled brain—I must have imbibed far too much the night before.
“It’s long past morning, sir,” Bartholomew announced. “Well into afternoon.”
“I’ve slept all day?” I glanced at the window in disbelief, but I saw only gray skies and had no idea where the sun lay. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Why not indeed, sir?” Bartholomew finished piling his tray and waited for me to climb from bed and don my dressing gown. “You couldn’t be waked, is why, though we all tried. Mr. Grenville wanted to send for a physician, but her ladyship don’t trust them. Her ladyship is back in bed, as she was spent from looking in on you all day. When you started snoring hard, she said you would be all right and retired to her chamber. She convinced Mr. Grenville to go home and sleep too.”
I remembered the changing faces from my dreams—my friends and family must have been hovering over me to see whether I lived or not. Rather embarrassing.
“Do not disturb her then,” I said, hiding my discomfiture. “I appear to be right as rain.” I swayed, giving the words a lie, but I’d been hungover before. The only thing to do was wait it out. I dropped into the chair before the fire and tilted my head back, ready to be shaved.
“Mayhap.” Bartholomew looked dubious but lathered my face with warm soap and poised the razor over my throat. “After you arrived home at dawn looking like demons were chasing you I agree with Mr. Grenville that perhaps you need a dose of something.”
I blinked at him. “What are you talking about? I slept soundly in my bed all night, after apparently drinking far too much at dinner at that blasted Pavilion. I hope I didn’t mortify my wife and Grenville.”
The razor hesitated. “You don’t remember coming home with a posy on your coat saying you’d been back to the Pavilion but don’t remember why? And that a colonel had been killed.”
I started, and Bartholomew quickly lifted the razor away. “What colonel?”
My first thought was of Colonel Brandon, with whom I’d had an uneasy friendship since we’d returned from the Peninsular War. Brandon, dead? An icy pain struck my heart, the intensity of which surprised me.
