The Dangerous Duke by Arabella Sheraton

Author:Arabella Sheraton [Sheraton, Arabella]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: ePub Bud (www.epubbud.com)
Published: 2012-01-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Devlin walked quietly to the door of Fenella’s room and nudged it open. The hinges gave a faint squeak as the door swung ajar. Molly started in surprise when she saw her employer.

“Beg pardon, Yer Grace!” She jumped up and then bobbed an anxious curtsey, staring fearfully at him.

Devlin waved her back into her seat next to the bed and whispered, “How is…er … Miss Preston?”

Molly did not answer him right away. She was too busy gazing at the large white box tied with a silver ribbon that he clutched in his arms.

“Uh…sorry, Sir,” she whispered, bobbing again.

Devlin, exasperated, muttered, “In Heaven’s name, Molly, stop doing that. You’re making me dizzy.”

Molly, midway toward executing another curtsey, froze and then slowly straightened up. Devlin put the box on the end of the bed and walked around to the side where he could see Fenella’s sleeping form.

“Well, Sir,” Molly announced, sotto voce. “She’s bin sleepin’ ever so much, but that’s good ’cause Doctor Barclay recommends the power ’o sleep to mend the broken body. ’E said sumpin’ else about sleep ravellin’ up a worn sleeve o’ care but I didn’t much understand that bit.”

Molly finished the recitation with a proud flourish, as if she alone were responsible for these words of wisdom.

Devlin nodded, still gazing down at Fenella. Her face seemed very pallid.

Molly, suddenly struck by an instinctive, age-old flash of feminine intuition, whispered demurely, “If yer don’t mind, Sir, would ye like to sit a wee while? So I could just slip away to Cook to prepare Miss Fenella’s broth.”

Devlin looked at her rosy-cheeked country face. In that moment, maidservant and master were in perfect understanding, and he thanked her silently for her perspicacity.

“You run along, Molly,” he whispered. “I have a little time to spare.”

“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, Sir,” she whispered in return, giving him clear indication she would be absent for a decent interval. She slipped out the room and closed the door. However, for propriety’s sake, Molly left it open a crack.

* * * *

Devlin sat in the chair Molly had vacated and gazed at Fenella’s face. Her breathing was soft and regular. Her dark lashes fanned onto her cheeks, which had just the faintest touch of pink to indicate that health was returning.

It had been three days now. Three days of uncertainty.

The Dowager had hardly slept; neither had he. Both showed the ravages of sleeplessness with shadowed eyes and solemn faces. The servants tiptoed often to her door to ask if there was any change in Miss Fenella’s condition. Molly and Mrs. Perkins watched over the frail, slumbering body and never were the guardians of Hell more fierce than the feisty little maidservant and the severe housekeeper. Even crusty Blenkins found that his duties, upon occasion, took him past the bedroom door where he managed to have a few mumbled words with Molly. Doctor Barclay made regular appearances, shut himself in the sickroom for long periods, and refused to answer when questioned beyond a testy, “Time will tell.

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