“Yes,” Marigold called from the bed. “Make her take a nap, Doctor. We can’t have both of us of exhausted.”
“Two against one,” Hyacinth mused.
Russell grinned and made his way to the door.
“Thank you again.”
The doctor nodded and departed.
“Now go and rest,” Marigold told her, her voice low and a bit dreamy as she began to settle in for sleep. “And you should tell your Sir Tristan that when I am well, I intend to speak with him.”
Hyacinth bit her lip and shook her head. “He hasn’t offered for me, Mari, and isn’t that Griffin’s role?”
“Oh, he can ask Griffin for permission to wed you, but I still intend my own inquisition.” She opened her eyes to look at Hyacinth. “I need to know he is worthy of you, that he’ll adore you as you deserve.”
Hyacinth stepped forward and bent to kiss her sister’s cheek. “Sleep.” Then she whispered, “I will tell him he has a meeting with my sister in his near future.”
CHAPTER 10
Tristan had spoken to Collier, and his friend had agreed that it was probably best if he and Lady Felicia returned to London. They were packing now and hoped to make an afternoon train before evening fell.
Lord Selwick was displeased that his sister had fallen ill because of a housemaid, and it had taken every ounce of patience Tristan possessed to remind the earl that illness befell anyone, of any rank and any position. He’d only barely succeeded in not throttling the man for his arrogance when Selwick’s eyes had turned bleak and he’d murmured his apologies, recalling that Tristan had lost his own mother to a fever as a child.
Dr. Russell, who’d once treated his mother, was hopeful about everyone who had fallen ill. Even the housemaid’s fever had broken. He insisted that Ms. Bridewell was on the mend and Lady Sybil had still not come down with fever, though she remained abed with fatigue and a sore throat.
Cartwright passed him in the hall at one point while Tristan was visiting each guest and assured him that he would look outfor Emma, ensuring she did not run herself ragged while tending to everyone else.
It gave Tristan hope that the young man understood what kind of a person Emma was, that her giving nature meant she needed someone to care for her in return.
But, of course, even as he visited the other guests, the person he had most wanted to speak to and see was Hyacinth. The last time he'd conversed with Dr. Russell, the man had assured him that Miss Marigold Bridewell was resting in her room and that he had encouraged her sister to do the same.
So he suspected that Hyacinth was still in her room, hopefully sleeping soundly and recovering from spending the night at her sister's bedside.
He told himself he should let her rest. At some point she would come downstairs for dinner or to get a breath and fresh air, and he could see her.
He told himself to wait, to be patient. That she was here at Oakhill and he would encounter her again soon enough. And yet he found his feet carrying him to her door. Found his hand rising to rap lightly. Found his chest constricting with eagerness to see her. To know that she was well.
No one answered, so he rapped softly again, then put his hand on the doorknob. He debated with himself for far less time than he should have, then twisted the knob and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
She lay on her side in her bed fully clothed. Still wearing the pretty gown she'd had on last night at dinner. Only her shoes had been discarded and lay on the carpet next to the bed. Her hair had partially come down and it hung in a silky dark wave across her shoulder and neck. Her thick dark lashes fanned out against the high cut of her cheeks.
She looked peaceful. She looked lovely. He walked over slowly, trying to keep his footfalls light, desperate not to wakeher. But he was equally desperate to see her. To get a closer look. To breathe in her sweet violet scent. He yearned to touch her, but he didn't want to disturb her.
Yet after watching for a moment, he couldn't resist. Reaching out, he traced two fingertips along the smooth skin of her forehead and let out a breath of relief. He knew she had not complained of a fever or any of the symptoms that the others had, but he’d needed to feel her skin and find it cool to know. To be certain that she was safe and well.
He took a step away, intending to leave her to her slumber. Just as he did, her eyelashes fluttered and then her eyes opened. Those beautiful pools of green. He swallowed, desperately rummaging for some excuse he could make. He was a rogue to have come into her room without her permission. To have touched her without her consent.
“Tristan,” she breathed, then smiled at him as she reached her arms above her head and stretched like a contented cat who'd just woken from a nap in patch of sunlight. “You're here.”
“I am. I know I shouldn't be. I did knock, and I shouldn’t have pushed my way in.”
“You couldn't resist,” she said with a mischievous smile.
He chuckled. “No. I have very little resistance where you are concerned.”
She beamed at that, as if pleased with her power over him.
The lady had no idea how complete it was.
