“Don’t be missish. This is a sickroom,” he insisted.
“I’m soaking wet under here. Fee said that I got sweats when my fever broke. She’s meant to change me.” She made it sound like an accusation.
“She is obviously in no position to do it now,” he said. “I don’t suppose…”
“Absolutely not! I will wait.” She glared at him.
Good idea, Miss Selwyn. He handed the tea toward her, and she pushed herself up on one elbow to take it. She took two sips and handed it back. “I’ll wait for Fee. Then you can leave.”
“Perhaps you should sleep as well. Sleep is healing.”
“I will not! You bear watching, sir, and I intend to do it.”
Dear God, his well-intended—and necessary—intervention compromised both cousins. He damned well couldn’t marry both of them. He hoped he was wrong. Perhaps no one had seen him. Perhaps Mrs. Morrit would believe his note was from Miss Selwyn. Perhaps the servants wouldn’t gossip. Perhaps pigs would fly.
Time passed swiftly. He alternated between regular attempts to get fluids into Kerr and efforts to sooth the fretful Miss Selina Selwyn. When luncheon arrived, he assisted the latter in eating and managed to coax a mere spoonful of broth into Kerr before her head lolled sideways, the woman senseless and uncooperative.
Miss Euphemia, as she had become to him, didn’t awaken until the sun had dipped to the horizon and light through the window dimmed. She sat up, stretched, and rubbed her eyes. “What—” He watched memory return. She gasped and jumped to her feet. “Mr. Kendrick, I—”
He put aside the book he’d been reading to her cousin. “You slept soundly. How do you feel?”
She put a hand to her head. “I—Better, I think.” She glanced at the window. “How long did I sleep?”
“All day, Fee. You slept for hours.” Miss Selina Selwyn’s tone left no doubt it was meant as condemnation. “This man has been—”
Miss Euphemia’s eyes flew wide. She glanced from one to the other.
“Oh, very well,” the cousin said with pouting lips. “He’s behaved like a gentleman. We’re finishingRob Roy, which, I may say, is more interesting thanWaverly. There’s no luncheon left. We ate it all.”
Gideon poured a glass of water. “The hot water is gone as well. We put the pot out for a refill, but I have no tea to offer.”
She took the water and sipped, staring at her cousin. The fog of sleep appeared to clear. “You are much better today.” Memory surfaced. “Kerr!”
“Not as well,” Gideon said. “I have been able to get her to drink little.”
“Did you try dripping it into her mouth?” Miss Euphemia asked, wide awake now.
“Yes. I tried that. We had a bit of ice at noon. I could get a few chips in her, but her fever remains high.”
She took the water with her to the dressing room, to attempt to give it to the maid, no doubt. She returned moments later, worry etched in every line of her lovely face. “She didn’t respond. How often did you try?”
“Every thirty minutes,” he said.
She squeezed her eyes shut, shook off her worry, and forced a smile for her cousin. “It is good to see you better,” she said.
“You promised to help me change,” the patient whined.
Miss Euphemia glanced at Gideon.
“She’s been waiting for you.” He shrugged.
Gideon retreated to the dressing room after Miss Euphemia retrieved clean linens, and sat with Miss Kerr, soothing her with cool cloths while Miss Euphemia took care of Miss Selina’s personal needs.
He found the cousin—who had been dressed in a clean nightgown, trussed up in a wrapper, and covered with a blanket—sitting in a chair. A pile of sheets lay by the door, and clean ones had been put on the bed. Miss Euphemia knelt before her, holding her cousin’s hands and speaking earnestly to her. Miss Selina glanced up at him speculatively but didn’t speak.
“Miss Selwyn—” he began.
“Yes?” Euphemia responded, rising to her feet.
