Emily Hendrickson by Elizabeths Rake

Author:Elizabeths Rake [Rake, Elizabeths]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

“I knew it! I knew he had overdone,” exclaimed Elizabeth upon learning that Lord Leighton was in bed with a slight fever and not feeling at all the thing. She had spent time with Lord Crompton after breakfasting in her room. When Rose had returned from the kitchen with a light meal for the earl—prepared by Rose and Filpot— Elizabeth had been appraised of Lord Leighton’s setback.

Not bothering to check her appearance, she marched down the hall. “I had best give him some of the tonic Purvis sent with me. She must have anticipated such a thing, for she sent an ample supply. I knew he ought not have exerted himself. That stubborn man!” Elizabeth muttered as she made her way along the south wing.

Continuing on to the last room, she stopped, then hesitantly rapped on the door to Lord Leighton’s room, unsure of what she ought to do.

Hadlow answered her knock, looking very much the melancholy soul. He immediately ushered her inside, gesturing to the bed across the room.

“How is he?” she whispered. The bedroom was utterly dark, the only light from the fire and one candle. It was stifling.

“I fear for him, and that’s a fact,” Hadlow intoned in a gloomy, sepulchral voice. He gave Elizabeth the shivers.

“Why do you not join Rose for a moment? Perhaps there is something she needs. You would be just the one to tell her how to go on.” It had not escaped Elizabeth that Rose much admired Hadlow, and was not the least reluctant to work with the valet. It was highly doubtful that Filpot had been around, or that he would be willing to assist a mere lady’s maid.

“Very good, miss.” Hadlow bowed, then reluctantly left on silent feet. His mouth had quirked a moment, and she supposed it passed for a smile.

Once he was out the door, Elizabeth charged across the bedroom and quietly opened the draperies. Soft winter light sifted into the room and over to the great four-poster bed where a man lay in utter stillness.

Sick at heart, Elizabeth cautiously approached the bed, carrying the satchel containing the tonic and potions concocted by Purvis.

She placed a tentative hand on his brow, then nearly jumped out of her skin when a husky voice said, “I am not dead yet, my dear.”

“You have a slight fever, however,” she replied briskly, once she gathered her wits about her.

“You believe I shall survive, do you not?” One hazel eye peered up at her, followed by the second, wincing at the pale light that now flooded the room.

“Of course. Only the good die young.” She prudently avoided meeting that hazel gaze.

“I knew there was a reason for my wicked ways.”

“Hush. You ought not say a word, especially those,” she admonished. Her heart grew lighter at his silly talk, for she absurdly felt that it meant he was far from hopeless when he could still tease her.

“Truth.”

“Rubbish. Now, I shall give you some of the tonic Purvis sent along. I daresay it shall be no more nasty-tasting than that posset you urged on me.

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