“A week.”
His response surprised her. “It does not feel like that long.”
He watched while she ate a slice of ham. “Losing track of time is expected considering how much you have slept.” He offered a tentative smile. “I am relieved to see you looking better.”
“I feel better, though not quite myself just yet.” Allowing herself to think of all that had happened, she quietly asked, “What about Vivien and her aunt?”
“Funeral arrangements have been made. Your sister-in-law took care of it.” His eyes filled with the sympathy of knowing how much this probably meant to Juliette. “They will be buried in the Grosvenor Chapel churchyard.”
“I wish I could have done more for them. Vivien did not deserve to have her kindness toward a sickly child repaid with such devastation.”
“No, but you did what you could to help—more than most would have done, I dare say. And rather than flee her home in fear, you did the right thing and controlled the contagion by staying. That cannot have been easy.”
Reminded of how awful it had in truth been, she shook her head. “It is the worst thing I have ever experienced, looking on helplessly while those around me perished.”
“I know precisely what you mean.”
Her eyes locked with his to share a lengthy moment of silent propinquity.
A thought struck her. “I know you put the nightcap on my head to keep my hair away from my face when I...” She bit her lip, blushed a little and said, “This must sound terribly vain to you, but do you think we can take it off so I can have my hair combed out and dressed? I’m sure you’re not an expert on such things but it would mean a lot to me and—” The look of regret that surfaced in his eyes stopped her. “What?”
“I kept wondering when you might notice, but you never did.” Crossing the floor, he allowed his gaze to linger on hers before saying, “Your hair was infested with lice, Juliette. I had to cut it off.”
Disbelief poured through her as she reached up and tugged at the bow beneath her chin before clawing the nightcap away. Her fingers trembled as they slowly touched her scalp. “No.” She patted her head, desperate to negate reality.
“I am sorry, Juliette, but I had no choice.”
It was too much, the crippled state he’d seen her in lately and now this. “Get out.” She looked away, hiding him from her view and pretending that if she could not see him then he would not be able to see her either.
“This doesn’t change my—”
“Please go, Florian.” She couldn’t even begin to imagine how awful she probably looked—much worse than she’d ever thought possible. “I want to be alone.”
“Juliette—”
“Please.”
A long moment of hesitant silence followed, and then she heard the soft snick of the door closing as he left the room. The moment he did so, Juliette threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. Fearing the worst, she crossed the floor to the cheval glass standing off to one side in a corner, inhaled deeply and stepped before it.
The image reflected therein was of a woman so foreign to her she had to remind herself it was she. Her body, which had always been slim, looked highly malnourished now in spite of the food she’d been eating. Her collarbones stuck out and her face appeared gaunt while her hair—her beautiful lustrous hair—had been reduced to stubble. In short, she looked like a starving boy dressed in a woman’s nightgown. Not exactly the level of attractiveness she hoped to present to Florian.
“I will overcome this.” She muttered the promise out loud, giving power to the words. “I will rally and I will get better.” Already Florian’s doctoring had helped her regain much of her strength. She was able to stand at least without feeling as though she risked falling over, and she no longer felt the urge to cast up her accounts or make a desperate grab for the chamber pot. Florian was to thank for this and he deserved her appreciation rather than the bitterness she had shown him when she’d told him to leave her alone.
Chapter 24
Florian had left her in peace for over an hour and had used that time to put himself to rights. Having slept in the armchair close to her bed for a week meant that he was in dire need of a bath, a fresh set of clothes and a shave. Since he’d yet to call the upstairs safe and free of possible contagion, he chose to bathe belowstairs where Baker could help him shave. Dressed in a clean pair of trousers and a newly ironed shirt, Florian finally felt a bit more like himself.
“How is she faring?” Mrs. Croft asked while stirring the soup she was preparing for dinner.
“Better. I think.” When this reply was met with curious stares, he added, “It is my belief she will make a full recovery, though I fear her pride may have taken a hit in the process. She did not like finding out I cut off her hair.”
“It will grow back,” Jillian assured him. “She will realize that soon enough.”
“But in the meantime, there isn’t a woman in the world who wants to look dreadful.” Mrs. Croft sampled the soup and added a bit more salt. “Least of all in front of a handsome young man like yourself, Your Grace.”
“Perhaps you should give her a compliment of some sort,” Baker suggested. He helped Florian don his waistcoat and jacket. “It might boost her confidence.”
Thanking his servants for their advice, Florian returned upstairs. He hadn’t bothered saying that he’d attempted to do precisely that only to have Juliette cut him off and demand he leave her alone. Perhaps now, after having some time to herself, she would be ready to hear him out. Especially since he did have a whole lot more to tell her than compliments alone.
