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“And I’ll ask for warm water so that you may wash. Fletcher said you cannot get the wound wet, but you may sponge off the rest of your body.” Siobhan crinkled her nose as she recited her husband’s orders. “I shall help you wash your hair in a couple of days if you’d like, provided you’re feeling up to it.”
“I’ve had Mrs. Tastespotting prepare soup, custard, and fresh bread.” The duchess patted Beatrice’s shoulder. “I’m glad you are here, Miss Fairfax.”
“Please, call me Beatrice.” She fashioned a brave, if somewhat wobbly smile, and glanced at each woman. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I’m accustomed to seeing to my own needs. I’m certain you have other, more important matters to attend to.”
The dowager duchess chuckled. “We were given explicit orders by your Cassius to take excellent care of you.”
Another blush stole up Beatrice’s face.
She must look like a cooked lobster.
“Oh, he’s not my Cassius.” Where did the old dear get that peculiar notion?
Beatrice twisted the lace adorning the top sheet. “He’s been very kind and helpful, and if not for him, I don’t know what would have happened to me. But I assure you, we’re merely friends. Nothing more.”
The skeptical glances between the four women showed they didn’t believe a word of Beatrice’s declaration.
“If you say so dear.” The merry glint in the dowager’s cloudy blue eyes belied her acquiescence. “I shall come back this afternoon and we can have a pleasant chat about your grandmother and mother.” She raised her nose an inch. “I doubt Cedric had anything kind to say about Seraphina.”
She truly knew Uncle Cedric’s character.
The Westbrook women made their way toward the doorway.
Beatrice vacillated between her desire to accept the kindness of these lovely people and convalesce in such beautiful surroundings and worrying about being a burden to the Westbrook family.
Cassius wasn’t even here to act as a buffer. The fear that he and his father and brothers would return without Captain Westbrook weighed heavily upon her mind. Her stomach tightened into a knot at the prospect.
What if she had inadvertently caused his brother’s demise?
She would never forgive herself if Captain Westbrook died, and she doubted his family would forgive her, either.
Wouldn’t it be better to leave then?
Before they asked her to?
Yes. Yes, it would.
Beatrice bit her lip in indecision then blurted, “Your Grace?”
“Yes?” The duchess half-turned, one regal auburn eyebrow raised.
“I don’t wish to be an imposition. If I might have paper and ink, I can write to the solicitor in London about my inheritance.” Beatrice offered what she hoped was a confident smile, even though with every word, her heart cracked a little more. “I’m sure he can provide other arrangements for me.”
A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed twice.
She felt like a tremendous inconvenience, though the thought of leaving without saying goodbye to Cassius and thanking him for everything he’d done for her, brought stinging tears rushing to her eyes. What was more, she would never claim that glorious kiss she’d promised herself.
Lowering her gaze so the women wouldn’t jump to an accurate conclusion about why she was weepy, she wrestled her emotions into submission.
“Nonsense. I shan’t hear of you leaving.” Though the duchess’s tone was gentle, an underlying steeliness weighted her denial. “Besides, it will be at least a fortnight before you are up and walking without assistance.”
A fortnight?
Well, that would give Beatrice plenty of time to contemplate her future and make appropriate plans.
Surely Cassius would have returned by then.
“I think a letter to your solicitor can wait a few days too.” The Duchess of Latham gave Beatrice a motherly smile.
