“For heaven’s sake, let the girl grow up first,” he replied, half-amused, half-irritated. He was in no hurry to enter the parson’s mousetrap, and was far too busy fighting Napoleon and climbing the ranks in the military. He had no time to think about a girl who was waiting for him patiently in England. Besides, being in two different countries had made the matter of their marriage somewhat of a challenge.
Until Aldingbourne had announced that he would come to Vienna to attend the congress, and suggested that it was as good a time as ever for them to tie the knot. Georg had agreed, since he felt it was about time that he at leastknew what his bride looked like. Julius had, of course, sent him a miniature, but aside from the fact that it was a pretty little portrait like any other (Georg thought they all looked alike), the image of the sixteen-year-old girl in the miniature seemed to have little in common with the comely, placid young woman who lay in front of him now.
His brows knit together. He’d expected to meet his bride officially at a lavish social event at the British Embassy. Aldingbourne had sternly ordered him to be there, more than once.
But to meet his betrothed like this, in a tawdry inn on the road in the middle of lower Austria?
He could not, for the life of him, determine the mix of emotions that coursed through him. That odd sinking feeling as he studied her. It must be concern, certainly? Or maybe it was surprise? Disappointment? All three?
Or was it because…there was no sensation at all to begin with?
He looked down at her slim form with polite indifference. Truly, she was just like any pretty, placid society damsel that he’d met. She wasn’t the Evie he’d imagined all those years.
How could he have been so wrong?
Collect yourself, man. He’d hardly talked to her for longer than a few minutes, and here he was already, judging her rather harshly. It was not fair to him, or to her, to draw conclusions from such a short interaction.
Ah, she was waking.
She muttered and tossed her head on the pillow.
The maid, on the other side of the bed, said in a fretting voice, “She’s been ill since Vienna. It doesn’t appear to be an ordinary cold.”
He placed a hand on her forehead. It was dry and hot. She was burning up.
This was not good.
With two steps, he reached the door, tore it open, and nearly ran over the girl in the ballroom dress who, one hand reaching out to open it, was about to enter the room.
She took a startled step back and tilted her head to look up at him.
Ah. The daft poppet.
He looked down at her with a displeased frown. “And who are you again?”
Chapter Five
She loweredher hand and smoothed the lapel of the officer’s military coat, which she was still wearing.
His eyes narrowed to two icy slits.
“I did not have the opportunity to introduce myself yet,” she said carefully. “But my name is… Clara. Clara Honeywell.” She nodded firmly. “Yes.”
“Are you Lady Evangeline’s companion?”
“Indeed.” She scrutinised him from head to foot. “Are you indeed friends with the Duke of Aldingbourne? Have you known him long? Are you on the way to Vienna?”
He made an impatient hand movement. “Yes, yes and yes. But that is beside the point. We need a doctor. Lady Evangeline is gravely ill.”
She pushed past him into the room. “Cla—I mean, Evie, my dear. Can you hear me?” She shook her arm.
Lady Evangeline tossed her head from one side to the other, groaning.
The maid was cooling her forehead. “I’m afraid it’s rather worse than a mere influenza,my lad?—”
Miss Honeywell scowled at her. “My lady needs the doctor. You are right, my lady isn’t doing well at all. Lady Evangeline needs a great deal of rest. It is best you don’t talk too much to Lady Evangeline.”
The maid blinked at her, bemused, and snapped her mouth shut again.
