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Another three afternoons later, Chester stood outside Eden’s bedchamber. Many were the times his feet—mayhap his heart?—had led him here since he’d brought her straight from Newbury. Most times, he’d summoned his waning diligence and discipline and walked on.

Other times, he couldn’t resist seeing her.

More than once, he’d found her sleeping, convalescing from influenza, and he’d drawn up a chair and watched her slumber. Whether that made him a man well on his way to becoming utterly besotted or a lunatic, he couldn’t say.

Was there much difference? Both had lost all sense of reason.

At his insistence, Dr. Chamberlain visited each day, and he’d assured Chester she didn’t ail from anything more dangerous than a severe case of ordinary grippe, made worse by her stressful circumstances, not enough to eat, and her unfortunate plunge into Black Beck.

Two uniformed maids hurried past, offering friendly smiles over the tall stacks of linens each carried.

Preparations for the house party were well underway. To Wynby’s credit, he took to the task as if he’d organized many such gatherings. Additional staff had been hired, food and drink ordered, entertainment planned, and chambers that hadn’t been used in years had received a thorough dusting and airing.

Chester rapped his knuckles once on the door.

“Come in.”

Eden’s lilting voice carried through the stout panel, sounding much more robust than she had yesterday when he’d checked on her.

He entered her chamber, mindful to keep the door ajar to prevent further gossip.

Newbury had fairly crackled with conjecture and on dit his last visit. What was more, at least a dozen people had witnessed him carrying an insensate Eden to his coach.

Chester didn’t even want to contemplate what the tattle-mongers were spreading about now.

Propped against pale pink sheets, a prim night robe buttoned to her chin and that mass of honey-toned hair flowing around her shoulders, Eden was speaking softly with her mother. Mr. Wiggles lay at the foot of her bed, and he gave Chester a single welcoming thud of his tail before shutting his eyes and resuming his slumber.

Today, he sported a purple ribbon about his scruffy neck.

Of Acorn there was no sign, but rustling in the adjoining sitting room suggested she was up to mischief of some sort. Luckily, on the day of the move from Briar Knoll, Chester had found her asleep in the sewing table. Several loops about the lid with a rope assured she’d remain in her nest until they reached Perygrim. That was not to say Acorn went without creating a ruckus. Her outraged scolds and frantic clawing didn’t cease until he released her in Eden’s bedchamber.

Miss Haverden patted her daughter’s hand and acknowledged Chester’s entrance with a slight angling of her head. Her somber pecan brown eyes shimmered with gratitude.

“Your lordship, Eglantina’s much improved. Thank you again for everything. You’ve been exceedingly kind, and we are grateful.”

“You are most welcome.”

His attention shifted back to Eden.

A touch more color brushed her gently sloping cheeks, and her eyes, now bright and focused, had lost the dull haze of fever. Indeed, she seemed far, far better than when she’d collapsed outside St. Nicolas Priory. He’d barely caught her in time to keep her from hitting her head upon the cobblestones.

“I hope you are improved as well, Miss Haverden.”

“I am feeling immensely better, thanks to Dr. Chamberlain’s ministrations and treatment of my ill humors,” Miss Haverden said whilst adjusting her shawl more securely around her frail shoulders. Life’s difficulties had etched fine lines at the outer edges of her eyes and framed her mouth, but she was an attractive woman not even fifty years old yet.

According to Dr. Chamberlain, while Miss Haverden didn’t boast a robust constitution, neither was she at death’s door, as Chester had feared. She did possess delicate, easily frayed nerves, however.

Chester’s disgust at learning Dr. Munson had cheated Eden and her mother had him struggling mightily with his ruthless inclinations. In addition to laudanum, the charlatan prescribed worthless nostrums and tonics and had the nerve to overcharge for what he’d termed specializedmedicines, composed of ingredients that actually contributed to Miss Haverden’s ill health.

Nonetheless, she’d rebounded remarkably in a short time, and a hint of healthy color now replaced her previous pallor. How much of that was due to the glass of sherry prescribed before bed each night, or the knowledge they were no longer indebted to Simon Andrews?

Or might her renewed vigor be due to his cantankerous father joining her in the solarium for tea these past two afternoons? Fully dressed to boot? Father preferred coffee, so his venture into socializing had a motive.

But what?

Chester had yet to determine what his sire was about, for he never did anything without purpose. On the other hand, to his relief, he and the duke had reached a truce of sorts. Much to his amazement—a tad of consternation too—Father hadn’t objected to their unexpected guests either. Extraordinary considering his treatment of Eden the other night, and with the house party happening in mere days. Perhaps he’d taken seriously Chester’s threat to leave and not return if he didn’t make an effort to be more agreeable.

Yesterday, he’d moved back into his rooms at Perygrim. He couldn’t very well leave the Haverdens to fumble about the place until Eden could be persuaded to become his secretary.