19
Harriet couldn’t recall being so sick before, and that included her wretched bouts of influenza and chickenpox when she was younger. Her stomach burned while feeling as though it were being cut open by shards of glass. And the nausea. It was relentless. She knew only a few moments of peace immediately after being sick before it descended upon her again.
She felt worse than wretched. As luck would have it, Brody – the man whose high opinion she craved – was here to witness it all. If only he’d vanish. But no. He remained, despite her insistence he leave.
Closing her eyes, she forced back the tears that threatened once more. She’d betrayed his trust. She’d taken advantage of his desire for Harry, and in so doing she’d stolen something that never should have been hers.
She had lied in the most spectacular way imaginable. Brody was only setting his anger aside out of pity.
What about him though? Is he who you thought him to be?
No. He was a duke of all things. But at least he’d not pretended to be a member of the opposite sex. She closed her eyes to block him from view, even as he removed the compress from her brow and replaced it with a fresh one.
“You’re burning up,” he murmured. “I think it’s time for more drastic measures.”
Whatever that might entail, Harriet was fairly certain it would involve her wanting to die. She had to distract him somehow. “When’s the last time anyone checked on Lucy?”
“Betsy did so around three. Lucy was sound asleep at the time and showed no sign of fever.” The heels of his shoes scraped the floor. She could sense him moving toward the part of the room where the bell pull hung. “I’m going to send a footman to fetch the doctor, and then you’re getting back in the tub. It hasn’t been emptied.”
“What?” She hugged the blankets around her and tried to scoot farther underneath them in an attempt to hide. Lord, it felt as though her eyes were on fire.
“The water will have cooled hours ago. It should help reduce your fever better than these useless compresses.”
“I’m not getting back in the tub,” she muttered from under her blankets. “Definitely not while you’re here.”
“You most certainly are,” he said in an authoritarian tone she’d not heard him use before. “If it makes you more comfortable, you may get in fully clothed. I care not as long as it helps cool you down.”
“If anyone needs cooling down, it is you,” Harriet muttered.
“What was that?”
She groaned as a sudden sharp pain speared her stomach. When would this hellish nightmare end? Hissing a breath, she listened to Brody moving about. If he thought he’d wrestle her into the tub, he was sorely mistaken. She’d resist, despite her weakened state.
“You called, Your Grace?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Please have either Jimmy or William fetch Doctor Heartfelt. They may tell him the matter pertains to a feverish houseguest.”
“I’ll see to it straight away,” said the woman.
A rustling sound, followed by the fading tap-tap of footsteps, alerted Harriet to the maid’s departure. “That’s not the doctor who tended to Lucy.”
“It’s the man my family’s been using since I was a child,” Brody said. “I thought a second opinion might be useful.”
Maybe, though Harriet doubted it. She was fairly certain she just had to suffer the course of whatever this was.
“He doesn’t live too far from here, so I reckon he’ll arrive within the hour. That gives us enough time for a quick dip.”
Harriet clutched at her blanket. “I already…told you. I’m…not…getting…into…”
Things truly weren’t going too well when she lacked the energy to speak. She slumped beneath the weight of the very air filling the room. Her body burned, her eyes stung, and it felt like nails were being driven into her skull.
“Easy does it,” Brody murmured while pushing her into a sitting position. “We’ll just remove this.”
“Don’t have to,” she groaned, her words slurring.
“You’ll be glad it’s not wet when you get back out.”
Too weak to protest any further, she leaned against him while he went to work on removing her robe. It slid from around her, leaving her in nothing more than her nightgown.
