“I can’t bloody believe I have been ordered to bedrest,” Justin growled. Undoing his bandage, the throbbing wound was looking less engorged, the skin around it returning to a healthypink color. He was chilled after the onslaught of fever, but his strength was returning. There was no circumstance under which he would oblige staying in bed for the rest of the week.
“Yes, well, that’s if Alice and the two eldest Nichols girls allow you to,” Peverill replied.
At the mere mention of Cordelia’s name, he felt his gut clench. He’d been awake for the better part of last evening and today, and she had yet to look in on him. He was doing his best not to obsess over their last conversation, but he could not help but wonder if she’d given any further consideration to his marriage offer.
It was difficult not to think of her; some of his most vivid fever dreams took him back to the tiny vicarage and the cot. But instead of rushed lovemaking, he was able to take his time with her, until she was writhing and begging beneath him. Justin took in a shuddering breath, reminding himself that it would not do to become aroused in front of his friend and the other people who were constantly filtering in and out of his room. Dukes had no privacy.
If only he could get Cordelia in the room with him for a little bit of time. A few moments were all he needed to convince her that they were right for one another.
The sound of a coach crunching on Hollyhead’s gravel path caused both him and Peverill to turn their heads to the window.
“Who’s that, then?” Justin asked.
“It appears to be some sort of mail coach,” Peverill said.
“Really? Strange.”
“Oh, wait,” Peverill said, holding out his hand. He laughed. “It appears that your poor, befuddled secretary has finally arrived.”
Justin and Peverill listened to muffled voices gathering in the entrance hall, presumably to receive the wretch. “I’ve been waiting on that man for four bloody weeks!” Justin muttered.
“You can’t be cross with someone for catching the Hertfordshire equivalent of cholera,” Peverill replied, smiling.
“I’d say you’re enjoying this show a little too much.”
“Indeed,” Peverill replied, “I’d forgotten how many charms the countryside has. Perhaps I’ll purchase a bit of land out here.”
“For your health, I’d advise against it,” Justin said, but try as he might, he was not feeling quite so surly anymore.
“Mr. Wright!”
His secretary, Arthur Payne, burst into the room alongside Mrs. Norris. The two of them nearly got stuck in the doorframe, Payne hefting his bulk through the threshold before the chatelaine. Mrs. Norris opened her mouth to introduce him properly, but Payne beat her to the punch.
“I must profusely apologize,” he began, using a handkerchief to dab at his shiny, bald head. “I drank bad well water and next thing I knew I had to be laid up in bed for sixteen straight days! This is why I have such alowopinion of these backwater towns,” he added. Mrs. Norris harrumphed at his, frankly unfair, summation. “After that incident in Bath I told Mrs. Payne that I would never leave London again. Then, not that I mind, of course, but you call me here and look what happens.”
“No matter, Payne, you’ve arrived,” Justin said.
“As it appears! And I must say, I’m sorry to see the state you’re in. Why, I’ve had the news already from Gilbert and Strauss. They’re in a terrible flap about your leave of absence. I also have the drawings you sent me of the pumps you’re installing, with some notes from the junior architect, and luckily, I was able to procure this on my way up to your rooms.”
Payne brandished a small letter in his hand. “It’s from the chemist in London.”
“I provided him with those samples hardly a week ago,” Peverill chimed in, coming to stand beside Payne.
“The news came this morning, Your Grace,” Mrs. Norris piped up. “I was waiting until the appropriate time to give it to you.”
“Goodness me,” Payne said, sweat pouring down the side of his cheek. His spectacles were fogging up from the excitement. “Am I supposed to refer to you as ‘Your Grace’?”
“Give me the letter, Payne,” Justin said, holding out his hand, trying to maintain an air of calm. His heart was hammering beneath the simple white shirt he wore.
Payne stuck the envelope out and Justin grabbed it from his chubby fingers. Without ceremony, he ripped it open and scanned the paper, fully expecting bad news. He almost forgot about the people in the room; Peverill, Payne, and Mrs. Norris leaned in closely, breath held, waiting for him to deliver it.
“Well,” Justin began, reading the letter over once more.
“Is it good news, Your Grace?” Mrs. Norris asked, her voice high and trembling.
“Apparently switching the fields over every harvest and ensuring proper soil-turning practices will be a big help. This last part is intriguing though; it appears runoff from the artificial lake has exposed a layer of limestone beneath the surface… the chemist thinks it would be good for growing grapes.”
Peverill snorted. “You’re joking! Grapes?”
