“She has not awakened, Lady Sarah,” Thomas finally said.
“She has not rallied?”
“No, Lady Sarah.”
“Or eaten anything?” she asked.
He shook his head.
Hope was the one emotion she found difficult to quell entirely. Every morning upon awakening, she wondered if a miracle had transpired. And perhaps it had, simply because her mother had survived the night.
“I regret, Lady Sarah, that there has been no change.”
She nodded. The news was not unexpected. “At least we will not be traveling to Scotland, Thomas,” she said.
The underbutler studied the floor with great precision, as if to measure the flagstone squares. His hands were clasped at his back, and he rocked back and forth on his toes. When he looked back at her, his eyes were watery.
“The duke has reconsidered, then?”
“Yes,” she said.
She looked up at Eston, wishing she could banish him from Chavensworth. There were too many tasks for her to accomplish, too many duties that required her attention. Who had time for a husband?
He only smiled at her.
Eston was too large for the space. His shoulders were a bit too broad to be average, his height too great to be normal as well. His clothes were quite well tailored, the fabric of his suit a fine twill. His waistcoat was a bit on the plain side, merely black silk. A rather somber garment altogether, as if he’d been observing a period of mourning.
Had he? She knew his name, and the fact that he was an inventor of sorts, and that he’d sought her father out as an investor. He’d had a good childhood. Beyond that, she knew absolutely nothing about the man to whom law had linked her.
“What is it you’ve invented?” she asked abruptly. “Was it worth giving up your life?”
“Are you saying that our marriage is going to end in my death?”
Thomas made no effort to suppress his look of surprise.
She shouldn’t have spoken to Eston at all. She bit back her sigh, and said, “Mr. Eston is my husband, Thomas. You’ll please accord him all courtesy.”
“Of course, Lady Sarah,” he said.
“I would appreciate it if you would keep the knowledge to yourself, at least until I have the opportunity to speak to Hester and Margaret.”
“Of course, Lady Sarah,” he said, before turning to her husband. “A wagon arrived this morning, sir. Are those your belongings?”
“If they’re piled high with crates from Italy, they are,” Eston said.
Thomas glanced at her. “We thought the duke might have sent them, Lady Sarah. Shall I have the crates unpacked, sir?”
“I would prefer that you didn’t,” Eston said. “I shall attend to the chore soon enough.”
She’d learned more in the last minute than she had in the entire journey from London. Perhaps she should use Thomas as an interpreter of sorts. What would the poor man do if she turned to him, and said, “Would you ask him, Thomas, exactly what he expects from this marriage? Does he realize I have no intention, whatsoever, of being intimate with a man I do not know?”
But, of course, she wouldn’t. She was, if nothing else, a proper and well-reared lady.
She turned and walked down the hall to what had once been the Summer Parlor. In the last year, whenclimbing stairs had become too difficult for her mother, Sarah had had the room converted to a sitting room and bedchamber. She slid the pocket doors apart slowly.
Hester, her mother’s day nurse, pressed a finger against her lips, then gestured with her other hand for Sarah to enter.
Sarah came into the room quietly, closing the doors softly behind her.
