Ewan eyed her bent head with suspicion. Why wouldn’t she meet his gaze? What was she up to? He could ask her, but she would hardly be forthcoming. Instead, he decided to bring up something else he wondered about, her relationship with her father.
“I spoke with your father this morning,” Ewan began, lifting a spoonful of soup to his lips.
Was it his imagination or did Lady Theodora’s face turn to stone at the mention of her father? “Yes,” she replied simply, no emotion in her voice.
“He told me something I’m ashamed to admit I had forgotten,” Ewan continued.
Lady Theodora paused in bringing her own soup spoon to her lips. “What’s that, my lord?”
“That your mother died several years ago.”
Lady Theodora’s gaze dropped to her spoon and she brought it to her lips and swallowed before replying. “Yes,” she replied simply.
What was this? The young woman he’d known to trade sharp jabs with him was now replying in monosyllabic words. Was it the laudanum? Or had she simply realized the error of her ways and was purposely behaving like a proper young lady? And more importantly, why did Ewan find himself missing the girl he’d traded barbs with?
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “It must have been difficult for you to lose her. How old were you?”
“Eighteen.” Lady Theodora set down her spoon and stared across the room as if unseeing. “It was the worst time of my life.”
“No doubt,” Ewan replied quietly. “Was she sick for very long?”
“Yes. Months. I was at her bedside taking care of her day and night.”
Ewan’s brow furrowed into a knot. Until this moment, he couldn’t have pictured Lady Theodora working as a nurse at someone’s beck and call around the clock. But watching her face, he knew without a doubt that Lady Theodora was telling the truth.
“How soon after her death did your father sell the horses?” Ewan ventured.
Anger flashed through Lady Theodora’s eyes and for a moment, Ewan wondered whether he should have brought up the obviously sensitive subject.
“They were sold even before my mother took her last breath,” Lady Theodora said, her voice thin but with an unmistakable trace of anger. “I didn’t know because I hadn’t been out to the stables in weeks. I knew it was close to my mother’s time and I refused to leave her alone. My mother’s horse meant the world to her as did Alabaster to me.”
Ewan expelled his breath. Guilt tinged his voice. “So that’s why Alabaster is so important to you.”
Lady Theodora nodded. Her eyes were bright with a sheen of tears. “I lost the two souls that were the closest to me in this world. My mother, and my horse.” She took a deep, steady breath. “The horse was the only one I had any chance of regaining.”
Ewan felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. He didn’t miss Maggie look up from her needlework, tears on her cheeks. As soon as the maid noticed that he’d glanced over, however, she quickly swiped the tears from her cheeks and bent her head back over her needlework.
For the first time in his dealings with Lady Theodora, Ewan felt like a complete ass. The ass she’d called him on the day they’d met. He’d never asked her reasons for wanting Alabaster so badly. He’d merely assumed she wanted the horse because he’d been hers once and she didn’t like losing a treasured possession. But Alabaster wasn’t just a possession to her. He was her family.
They finished their meal trading little more than small talk and niceties. Ewan left Lady Theodora’s room that evening with a heavy heart. He’d pegged the young woman as selfish and self-absorbed, but the truth was she’d apparently given up months of her young life to care for her ailing mother. That was definitely not selfish. He’d misjudged her on that score. What else had he misjudged her about?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Have you heard back from Lord Anthony yet, my lady?” Maggie asked Thea the next morning after she’d helped her dress.
“Not yet,” Thea replied. She was sitting atop the covers on the made bed, her leg propped upon pillows, busily sewing a new nightrail for Rosalie, the maid who’d been so kind to allow Thea to borrow her nightrail the night she’d broken her leg. “Perhaps he doesn’t intend to write. My hope is that he will simply appear with a coach and four and take us home. Much more efficient, don’t you think?” Thea finished with a laugh.
Maggie shook her head. “Do you truly think he will?”
Thea nodded firmly. “Anthony won’t leave me here to rot. I’m certain of it.” She returned to her needlework and her thoughts about the dinner last night with Lord Clayton. It had been kind of him to have dinner with her. He easily could have left her shut in the room and just send up a plate. Instead, he’d treated her as a real guest. Not only that, he had somehow managed to ask her about one of the most painful subjects in her life and get her to answer. Thea never talked about losing her mother, never. But somehow with just a few short questions, Lord Clayton had got her to share her deepest feelings with him. How in the world he had managed that, she didn’t know. But she mustn’t spend too much time worrying about it. She had to find a way to get back home. If Anthony didn’t come soon, she would write him again.
Thea had just slipped the needle back into the soft white linen of the nightrail when a loud knock on her bedchamber door made her sit up straight. Maggie met her gaze from her seat near the window. They exchanged a puzzled look before the maid stood, set her embroidery in her chair, and made her way to the door.
The minute the door opened, Lord Clayton came barreling through pushing a wheelchair in front of him.
“Good morning, my lady,” he said with a bright smile, addressing Thea.
“Good morning, my lord,” Thea replied with a similar smile. “What is that?” She gestured toward the chair.
