Mark stilled. He had grown up in a household consisting mostly of men, but even he knew why women took those teas. Stella had been an advocate of them—along with some more potent cures—as had some of his previous mistresses. “Women’s troubles” were not foreign to him—nor women’s wariness about men during their courses. “She does not want to see me.”
“Because she does not wish to embarrass you. But I know my lady well. She could use some plain comfort.” She cleared her throat, twin spots of red appearing on her cheeks. “If you are willing. Simple comfort. Not, my lord, the kind her gentlemen visitors usually provide.”
“Yes, well . . .”
“And she has clearly missed you. I can see it in everything she does, the way she speaks about you.”
“If she knew you were speaking to me—”
“I might lose my position. Yes.”
“Epworth, my connection with Lady Sculthorpe—”
“She needs something more.”
Mark’s eyebrows arched.
Epworth swallowed hard, her posture sagging somewhat. “I do understand, my lord, how out of line I am being. But in twenty years, I have never seen Lady Sculthorpe work so persistently to save her family, nor have I seen her so close to her wit’s end. To feel so... alone. Nor have I seen her respond to anyone,anyone, the way she has to you. It’s as if you have injected some sort of hope into her being. Something she has never shown before. Ever. I have prayed it is something she could give to you as well. If you both can see it.”
Hope.
Not a word common in Mark’s life. And that craving within him seemed to expand, clutching his very soul. “You have risked rather a lot in coming here.”
Epworth nodded. “Much more than I had planned to when I decided to bring the note myself.”
“Why would you do this?”
The red in Epworth’s cheeks spread, and she swallowed hard. “Because I am in her debt.”
“How so?”
Her hands clenched at her side. “My loyalty is and always has been to Lady Sculthorpe.” Her gaze darted away to some far spot, then back to his face. “She has been my first priority most of my life. But I”—her voice faltered—“I failed her, when I did not tell her about her son’s... iniquities.”
“You knew Lord Sculthorpe was in trouble.”
A single nod. “We all did. The servants. They—the earl and countess—threatened our positions if we spoke out.”
“Or if you told her.”
Another nod. “Even to her. When she realized the... duplicity... she was furious with me. Rightfully so. I am only telling you because—”
“Because I already know.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And what ‘plain comfort’ do you think I can bring to Lady Sculthorpe?”
She studied him a moment, then cleared her throat. “Women sometimes find a hot brick or a hot water bottle to the back or belly or feet eases the pain. But a brick cools quickly. It cannot provide an ongoing heat. Or pressure. Or soft words.”
Ah. “You think I should return her gift to me in kind.”
“It was a thought.”
“An uncommon one.”
Epworth remained silent.
He glanced down at the note again. “You know her original plans?”
