Amanda Scott (18 page)

Ramsbury said gruffly, “I’m not leaving.”

“As you say, m’lord,” Medlicott replied in a low tone, as though she feared waking her mistress, “but you ought to sleep, sir. If you would just let me have a truckle bed set up in here, you could at least—”

“I don’t want to sleep.”

Sybilla took a deep breath and said clearly, “I told you to go away, Ned.”

She was aware of a surge of motion beside her as he said, “She’s still delirious. Get me cloths and send for more ice!”

A cool hand touched Sybilla’s brow, and she opened her eyes when Medlicott said, “She’s not so warm now, sir. The fever’s broken. Good afternoon, my lady.”

“She’s awake?” Medlicott was suddenly pushed aside, and Ramsbury loomed over Sybilla. The minute he saw her, the elated expression on his face vanished, to be replaced by one much more familiar to her. “What the devil do you mean by frightening us all to death?” he demanded angrily. “Have you got any idea what we have all been going through here, Sybilla? Have you?”

“Don’t bellow at me, Ned. I’m sorry you were frightened. What happened?” She struggled to sit up, only to experience another wave of dizziness and to find herself pushed firmly back against me pillows.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said grimly. “You stay right where you are. Medlicott, send at once for Dr. Hardy.”

“Of course, m’lord, but perhaps you might just give her ladyship a sip of that barley water there on the nightstand, now that she can take it without choking on it.”

“I don’t want barley water,” Sybilla said. “I want—”

“You’ll drink,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

He lifted her, and she drank, savoring the sweetness of the water. She had not realized she was so thirsty. But when he laid back against the pillows again, she said, “Tell me what happened. I promise I won’t try to get up. Indeed, I fear I cannot, for I’m as weak as a kitten.”

“You fainted at Heatherington House,” he said. “You had a high fever, and you have been either unconscious or delirious ever since. I told you it was foolhardy to visit those sick children! Dr. Hardy says you had completely worn yourself out instead of going to bed as any sensible person with an illness would have done, and that you are lucky not to have succumbed to an inflammation of the lungs.”

“Goodness, you make it sound like I’ve been ill for weeks! It cannot have been so long as all that.”

“A day and a half is quite long enough,” he retorted.

“That long?” She was horror-stricken.

“Be still, Sybilla,” he commanded, but his tone was gentler than before. “You will do yourself no good by getting excited.”

“But you don’t understand! Mally will have—”

“Mally is at Symonds House,” he said firmly.

“Are you sure? I did not tell you before, for I really had no chance to do so, but she had intended to—”

“To run away with Brentford,” he said with a grimace. “I know. Indeed, I ought to have known at the outset that your precipitous arrival in town was on Mally’s account, rather th—”

“Then Sydney stopped her! Oh, how I underestimated him. How good of him! I must get up, Ned.”

His hand on her shoulder was enough to keep her where she was. “Saint-Denis did not stop her,” he said grimly.

“Then you did. Oh, but how did you discover that—”

“I didn’t,” he retorted. “If you can manage to hold your tongue for a full minute, I’ll tell you.” He paused, glaring at her, daring her to speak. When she remained silent, he said, “That’s better. Symonds stopped her, the more fool he.”

Ignoring the rider, Sybilla exclaimed, “Symonds! But how? I thought he was in Leicestershire, shooting things.”

“And so he was until some well-meaning tabby sent to warn him of his wife’s latest infatuation. Not that his arrival in London Wednesday night did anything to deter your sister from her chosen course. According to what I’ve been told, she waited only until he retired and then would have been well away had she not foolishly forgotten to take her vanity case and more foolishly gone back for it. Symonds’s valet—clearly an interfering chap—seems to have discovered her flight and awakened Symonds. Husband and wife met on the stairs, which encounter can only have been an awkward one.”

“Oh, my good gracious, poor Mally!”

“Poor Symonds, to my way of thinking. Had he kept his wits about him, he’d have thrown a boot at the confounded valet’s head and gone straight back to sleep. Then, since Brentford is exceedingly warm of pocket, Symonds might have collected a handsome amount in damages for alienation. Now Brentford will merely begin beating the bushes for new game, I suppose.”

“And I suppose that if someone were trying to make off with your wife, you would not attempt to stop him,” Sybilla said sarcastically and without thinking.

Surprisingly, he grinned at her. “Thinking of running off with the perfumed puppy?”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Ned. I’ve no intention of running off with anyone. I merely wondered what you would do. I doubt you would care very much, if the truth were known.”

“Then you would be painfully wrong, my dear. As Aunt Lucretia said, I hold what is mine. I might hold it loosely, but I hold it, and you would do well to remember that. I don’t choose to figure as the cuckold in a farce of your composing.”

His tone was grim again, and she found suddenly that she had no wish to pursue the conversation. Stirring uncomfortably, she realized that the bedclothes had become damp and wrinkled beneath her, and a hand raised to her head told her that her hair was likewise damp, and very tangled.

“I must look awful,” she said. “When Meddy returns, I shall ask her to ring for a bath.”

“You will not. You’ll wait until the doctor has seen you before you stir from that bed. And don’t argue with me. I don’t have enough strength left to exert my usual excellent control over my temper.” His expression challenged her to comment.

“She smiled, but looking at him more closely, she could see that he was very tired, and she realized that he must have stayed the entire night at her bedside. She said gently, “Ned, if I promise to obey you—just this once, mind you—will you go back to Axbridge House and go to bed?”

He shook his head. “I’ve had some of my things brought here. And before you begin carping at me, let me explain that I haven’t noised it about that I’ve moved, so my friends all think I’m still fixed at Axbridge House. I left only because my father has taken it into his head to come to town, and I’ve neither the patience nor the stomach to listen to his lectures just now.”

“Did the marchioness come with him?” she asked eagerly.

“No, of course not. She is no doubt enjoying the peace of his absence from the park. And, Syb, before you ask, I’ll stay only until he leaves. Indeed, if you insist, once you are on your feet again, I’ll remove to Brooks’s.”

She was silenced, as much by his words as by the fact that Medlicott chose that moment to enter the room, accompanied by Dr. Hardy, a tall and stately man with bristling salt-and-pepper eyebrows and hair.

“Doctor were just comin’ in the door when I went downstairs, m’lord,” Medlicott said, “so I brought him up straightaway.”

Dr. Hardy greeted Sybilla politely, telling her that she had given them all a fright. “But you look to be doing well enough now, my lady.” He turned to Ramsbury. “If you wish to take yourself off for a well-deserved rest, my lord, you may certainly do so. Miss Medlicott can assist me.”

“I’ll stay,” Ramsbury told him, moving to stand by the window in order that the doctor might step to the bedside.

Sybilla, wishing Ramsbury would leave but knowing better than to try to make him do so with the doctor and Medlicott in the room, watched Dr. Hardy dubiously when, having taken her pulse, he leaned nearer and asked her to breathe deeply for him.

“I can breathe,” she said tersely.

He glanced at her, “I know that, or you’d no longer be with us. But be calm and do as I say. I agree with the late Doctor John Brown that excitement is not good for the sick, but I’ll depend upon you to calm yourself, rather than order up a dose of opium or alcohol for you to take. I don’t follow Brown so far as that, and didn’t, even before the poor man died of an overdose of his favorite remedies. So breathe, my lady, and don’t talk.”

He listened and then asked her to open the bodice of her nightdress enough so that he might thump her heart. Again, he leaned close and listened. She did not wish to look at him, so near, but when she looked away only to find Ned glaring at the poor man, she giggled. Dr. Hardy looked at her reproachfully.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “What are you listening for?”

“Different sounds,” he replied, thumping a few more times before he straightened and added, “The lungs give off different sounds where there is infection, you see. And I listen to your breathing to be certain you are getting enough air. Did you know doctors used to believe that air was necessary to cool the blood? Now, of course, we know that just as air is required for a candle to burn, it is likewise necessary for the combustion of food within the human body. I still detect pockets of infection, and your air passages are not as clear as I would like them to be, so we will restrict the amount of food you eat for the next day or so. But I don’t imagine that you are very hungry.”

“In point of fact,” she replied, “I am starving and”—she glanced again at Ramsbury—“I very much want a bath.”

The doctor shook his head. “We will order some food for you at once, but just warm gruel and dry toast, I think. You will be surprised at how quickly your appetite will wane. As for the bath, I’d prefer that you stay in bed for now. Miss Medlicott can give you a sponging, if you like, and you can sit up in a chair while a maid changes your bed, but that is all for a day or two, my lady. We want you to get well quickly.”

“But—”

“If she insists upon debating your orders with you, doctor,” Ramsbury said gently, “I shall be happy to look after her. Is there aught I should know about giving a sponge bath?”

Sybilla’s eyes widened, and she felt warmth rushing to her cheeks as she said quickly, “I’ll do what you say, Dr. Hardy.”

Ramsbury murmured, “I thought you would.”

She glared at him but offered no further resistance to the course set for her. Indeed, once Medlicott had bathed her and changed her nightdress, and she had been tucked up between fresh sheets, she had all she could do to swallow the thin gruel before her eyelids grew too heavy to hold open. The toast was left unheeded on the tray, and she slept.

When she awoke, Medlicott was the only one in the room with her. “Where is his lordship?” she asked sleepily.

“Gone to bed in one of the spare rooms, and not before time,” replied the dresser. “He was asleep where he stood, poor man, and not to be wondered at, staying awake the night like he did. Not that you could have known it, and so I told him, but—”

“Enough, Meddy. I know how kind it was of him to stay. Do you know, it has just occurred to me that my fainting like that must have caused a stir at Heatherington House. How appalling for him, and for Mr. Saint-Denis, as well.”

Medlicott drew herself up. “As for Mr. Saint-Denis, I am sure I cannot say, m’lady, but the master were concerned only with your well-being. He scooped you up and brought you home, leaving the lot of them a-staring after him. I know, for several persons called here today to ask after you, and that young Fraser don’t know better yet than to repeat what is said to him.”

“Has Miss Mally called, do you know, Meddy?”

“That she hasn’t, m’lady, but I daresay that might be on account of Lord Symonds requesting that she remain at home with him for the day. There was no scotching the tales, you know, and I daresay he thought she was best off at home where she would not hear all the things that were said of her.”

“Either that or he has beaten her and locked her in her room,” Sybilla said with a small attempt at humor.

“Would that he had,” Ramsbury said from the doorway, “but I doubt the man has that much courage or sense. He seems to think he loves your idiotish sister. Rumor has it that he blames himself for her little peccadillo.”

“He should blame himself,” Sybilla said, pushing herself up against her pillows and noting gratefully that it didn’t take as much effort as it had before for her to do so. “Send for some tea and a few sandwiches, will you, Meddy? I cannot think why it should be so, but I am ravenous again.”

Ramsbury stepped closer to the bed and said, “Tea is an excellent notion, but no sandwiches. You remember what Hardy said, Sybilla, that you must eat very little.”

“I know what my body is saying,” she retorted. “Now, don’t argue, Ned. I am still weak, but I’ve not the least doubt that food will make me feel better. If you want to please me, send for Mally. I want to see her.”

“You are not supposed to get excited,” he reminded her.

“Oh, don’t be silly. As though it would excite me to see my own sister. I merely want to see that she is not unhappy.”

Ned grimaced. “She ought to be well thrashed. No, don’t comb my hair. I’ll send a message to Symonds House for you. In the meantime, if you want a little family reunion to perk you up, how about a chat with your scapegrace brother? It appears that he decided to forgo Leicestershire for the delights of town.”

“Good heavens, is he here? Why didn’t you tell me so at once? Go and fetch him!”

“He is here, and I didn’t tell you at once because, oddly, I thought to spare you aggravation. And no, I won’t go get him, because he is sleeping off last night’s excesses. It appears that he didn’t come straight here, having some odd notion that I, rather than you, might be in residence, but took himself off to a gaming hall instead. When he did come to the house, it was during the small hours when I had no inclination to deal with him. I had little choice, however, since he saw fit to bellow my name, not once but many times, while balancing himself atop the areaway railing, his courage having been greatly bolstered by the juice of either grape, barley, malt, or the entire lot of them.”

“In other words, he was inebriated,” she said, repressing an indulgent smile.

“Ape drunk,” he retorted, “but I took care of him.”