“Send the duchess away. To London, of all places!”
“I dinnasendher away. I told her about a doctor that might be able tae assist the duke with his recovery. She chose tae go of her own accord. As for London, it can hardly be helped that that is where Dr. Chadwick resides.”
“First thing, Dr. Chadwick isn’t even a doctor. Not a real one. And secondly, you know what His Grace will think if he wakes while she is gone and finds that she’s inLondon,” Humphrey hissed, his countenance growing mottled. “You’ve heard the gossip, same as I.”
“Indeed I have,” Agnes said calmly.
“Then if he does come to before she returns, I’ll make sure to promptly inform him that the duchess’s travels have nothing to do with the unsubstantiated rumors of an affair. Lest the entire country believe that while the Duke of Southwick teetered at death’s door, the Duchess of Southwick flitted off to London in search of—of a male paramour!”
Agnes stopped mid-fold. “Ye will do nothing of the kind.”
Humphrey’s chin wobbled with indignation. “But—”
“Do ye ken why rocks in a stream are smooth, Mr. Humphrey?”
“What do rocks—”
“Because the water wears them down. It doesn’t happen all at once. Sometimes it takes years. But with enough gentle pressure, the hardest, roughest edges are worn smooth. That’s why ye are not going tae tell His Grace anything if he wakes, other than tae share that Her Grace has gone tae London. The rest will be up tae him.”
Comprehension flickered, like a candle being lit. “You started the rumors, didn’t you? About the duchess.Agnes.”
Stacking the folded towels together, she scooped them up. “IfI happened to read something that revealed the duchess was considering taking a lover, andifI shared that plan with a few maids known tae have loose tongues, andifthat gossip was the reason His Grace came home, I make no apologies.”
“This—this is beyond the pale, Agnes!” Humphrey blustered. “Even for you.”
The Scotswoman merely lifted a brow. “Help me with the rest of these linens, if ye please. Heaven knows where that Lucy has gone off to this time. Lazy girl. How can she ever hope tae rise above scullery maid if she isn’t here when I need her tae be?”
Humphrey opened his mouth, but before he could muster a reply, a loud, hacking cough emanated from inside the duke’s chambers. Startled, Agnes dropped the entire bundle of towels she’d just painstakingly folded.
“Oh my,” she gasped, her hands going to her cheeks. “He’s awake!”
She and Humphrey fought for who would be the first through the door. Agnes, with her wide hips, was the winner. Blocking off the butler with a swish of her derriere, she rushed to Ambrose’s bedside and dropped to her knees beside the mattress.
“Your Grace,” she said earnestly. “How are ye feeling?”
*
What day wasit?
What month?
Whatyear?
As Ambrose swam toward the surface of consciousness, he found himself properly disoriented. His tongue was also coated in a layer of cotton, and his leg hurt like the dickens.
Grimacing, he licked his lips and struggled into a sitting position. He could see that he was in his room at Southwick Castle and that it was early morning if the slices of yellow and orange streaming in between the partially drawn drapes were any indication. But other than that, he was left with a vague sense of obliviousness.
“You were bitten, Your Grace,” said Mr. Humphrey, looking even more solemn than usual.
“On the leg,” Agnes added.
“You lost a lot of blood.”
“The doctor called it a blood loss coma.”
“Then infection set it, and fever along with it.”
That explained the dream he’d had. The vivid, sensual dream that had begun with lilacs and ended with fire. Reaching for a glass of water, Ambrose gulped it down, and when that didn’t quench his thirst, picked up the entire pitcher. Swiping a hand across his mouth, he looked first at his butler, then his housekeeper, dark brows arching high in expectation. “Well, where is she? Where is my wife? Where is Mara?”
