“Of course. I’ll let him know to speak to you and advise us how we can assist in treating those who are ill.” Emma turned to him as they reached the stairwell. “I’m going to go down and check on Annie. Hyacinth is with her sister. She refuses to leave her side.”
Tristan nodded and climbed the stairs, planning to speak to Collier, though his thoughts were all of Hyacinth.
“Miss.”The voice came gently and Hyacinth startled awake.
She hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but she’d been sitting up with Marigold for hours, hoping for any sign that her fever had broken. There had been dozens of cold compresses, and yet her cheeks were splotched with color and her forehead remained unnaturally warm.
“Pardon, miss. The doctor will come soon. Is there anything I can do for you or Miss Bridewell?”
Hyacinth stood and stretched her back. Marigold was awake and gave her a half-smile.
“More cool water. More cloth for compresses. And perhaps some broth.”
Marigold immediately turned her lip up at that.
“Oh and could you let the duchess know that our sister is awake and the doctor is on his way? She wanted to be reassured that he’d been called.”
“Yes, miss.” The young woman bobbed a curtsy and left the room.
Hyacinth perched with care on the edge of Marigold’s bed and laid the back of her hand against her sister’s forehead. Still warm, but not nearly as hot as it had been the previous night. A little pang of grateful relief loosened something in her chest.
“How do you feel?”
“Miserable, honestly,” Mari said weakly.
Hyacinth nodded. “Remember when we were fourteen?”
Marigold let out a little shocked breath. “Are you saying this is my turn now?”
“Not at all,” Hyacinth said, reaching for her sister’s hand. “More that I intend to be as attentive as you were then.”
Hyacinth had caught a cold and turned feverish and had been in bed for nearly a week, coughing and sneezing and sometimes crying in frustration. It had felt as if she would never recover. And during all the sleepless nights when her cough would keep her awake, her sister sat with her, read to her, played the violin for her, and generally tried to distract her, despite the fear she saw in her twin’s eyes.
One night, she’d awoken to Marigold crying quietly in the dark.
“You cannot leave me,” Hyacinth said quietly. “That’s what you said to me, and that’s what I’m saying to you.”
Marigold wrapped her fingers tighter around Hyacinth’s. “I’m not that easy to get rid of. I think the fever has broken.”
“Me too. You feel a bit cooler, but still worryingly warm.”
“How are the other guests?”
Hyacinth had inquired of the maid earlier, worried for Tristan and Emma.
“Lady Sybil is unwell, but no sign of fever yet, and Annie, the maid who seems to be suffering the worst effects still has a fever. No one else is ill, as far as I know.”
Marigold drew in a long breath and sighed. “I suppose this has ruined the house party.”
“That’s certainly nothing to worry about.”
Marigold studied her thoughtfully. “Tell me about Sir Tristan. The truth.”
“You make it sound like I have lied up to this point.”
“Well, you have been quite secretive.”
Hyacinth smiled. She’d never been able to keep a secret from her twin in her life.
