“This is a decision for you and your husband to make you—”
A third time with the stupid look. How can I lecture her about what a husband and wife should agree on after what I’ve done? “Sorry, Scarlett. This is terrible.”
She sighs deeply. “It’s about to get worse. Lord Mark was in the kitchen with Georgina as she baked the duke’s favorite kartoshka. He’d just visited his mama. The Marchioness of Prahmn says you’re the talk of the town. She believes the scandal will be in the papers soon. Lady Hampton, the bigamist.”
No. I take a breath, then another. “It will pass. Gossip does.”
“Maybe, Katherine. Maybe not. Your old in-laws, the Palmerses, are gossiping to everyone. They say you committed fraud.”
More scandal. This time it is deserved. What do I do? “Scarlett?”
She heads toward Jahleel’s bedchamber, but I grab her arm. “The duke wants a bath. His fevered dreams … Something about Tavis has made him think the condition he’s in or what he wears when he dies is how Jahleel will face eternity. He wants a bath and to be fully clothed.”
“No. Stephen wants to wait. He thinks the temperature change or the water could bring pneumonia to his lungs.”
“But he’s fevered all over.”
She squints at me. “How do you know he’s fevered everywhere?”
I ignore the question. “If this is the duke’s last request, I shall make it happen. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get sicker.”
“How, Katherine?”
“I’ve bathed him before.”
A brow rises, maybe even an urge to giggle. “Yes, you both said this. But no. We wait for Stephen.” She leaves me, knockingdown the hall in Papa’s old boots, and enters Jahleel’s bedchamber.
My sister moves so fast that she doesn’t pick up her apron. I do, and it gives me ideas.
Jahleel’s been denied enough. The man wants a bath. He’ll get one from his hired mistress.
Chapter 12
JAHLEEL—SUNSET—STILLRESTLESS
Scarlett’s voice guides me through another painful hour of waiting for the fever to relent. It’s hours from midnight, probably not going to see midnight. I’m hot and bothered, and I resist sleep.
Not sure if I’ll awaken.
She snaps the book closed. “Are you still listening?”
“DoesPride and Prejudiceget better for Darcy? He clashes wits with Elizabeth. That’s entertaining, but we are up to chapter eighteen, and the woman won’t give him a chance.”
“I think that’s the point, Your Grace.”
“It’s the wrong point, Scarlett. Darcy should move on. Flip ahead. See if he ends up with the Bingley woman? It’s obvious she appreciates him.”
“I’ve read it, but I will not spoil it. You must linger and hear it all. But isn’t the prose calming? Stephen says it’s calming.” Her head tilts. “Do you feel calm?”
I’m hot, sweaty, smelly, hoping not to die. What does she think? I say none of this. Scarlett is an angel of mercy. It’s Katherine that has me agitated. She’s taken everything from me and now wants to marry me to become a proper widow again.
I hate her.
But I admire the strength it took to propose such folly.
Commotion starts outside my bedchamber.
Scarlett leaps up, dropping the book.
