Maeve grinned. “An added benefit to be sure.”
Within the hour, Maeve alighted from the Kimptons’ carriage in the Ingleby House drive, instructing the footman to wait, then steeled herself for the coming confrontation. Causey met her at the door. “Is Lady Ingleby about?”
“She is at tea with Lady Faulk this afternoon, madam.”
“Thank you, Causey. Send Parson up, would you?” Maeve hurried up the stairs to her suite and darted into the wardrobe.
“My lady?”
Maeve poked her head out. “Oh, there you are, Parson. I need help packing. We shall be staying with Lord and Lady Kimpton for a time. She needs assistance, and I appear to be the one at hand.”The one who pushed her way in.
“What of Lady Ingleby, my lady?”
“I’m a woman grown, Parson, and a widow besides. I don’t require, nor particularly want, my mother’s permission.”
“Yes, my lady.” Despite her creased brow, Parson dragged out a valise.
“Better pull out the trunk.”
“Oh dear.”
Oh dear, indeed.
“Lorelei?” Harlowe felt as if his head would never stop its infernal pounding. His voice cracked from lack of use. “So you dismissed the dragon?”
“How on earth would you know that?”
He ignored that. “You can’t think to take care of me yourself,” he said, astonished at his ability to string a coherent sentence together.
“No. No, I secured someone else. In the meantime, I’ve sent for broth. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll eat it. The new dragon I’ve engaged will not tolerate your hunger strike.”
It was too much effort to muster a physical smile, but he felt the remnants of one inside. He closed his eyes. “Do your worst.”
A few minutes later he heard the rumbling of voices, but again, the exertion was too great to comprehend the goings on around him. He caught the scent of beef broth and warm bread, and his stomach rumbled. That had to be a good sign.
“Harlowe, Andrews is going to assist you to sitting,” his sister said.
“It can’t wait until tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid not, darling.”
Harlowe had no fight within and grunted only slightly as her footman handled him as if he were but a child.Child.He had a child. “What is his name?”
“Whose name?” Lorelei’s voice echoed from a deep chamber.
“The child. My child.”
“Nathaniel.” She spoke on a soft sigh that he took as encouraging. “Ah, here we are. Thank you, Bethie.”
“Bethie? The general?She’sstill alive?”
“Damn sure am, Master Brandon, and don’t you fergit it.”
“It’s Lord Harlowe, Bethie,” Lorelei chastised her.
The general ignored her, stuffing pillows at his back.
Harlowe watched her rake a critical eye over him from under a hooded gaze. “Ye want me feedin’ him, milady?”
