Chapter 19

CHAPTER19

“To what do I owe this rare sight?” Dorothea asked as Adam entered the breakfast room the following morning. He felt how she looked.

“I might say the same to you,” he replied, taking a seat at the small table that looked out on the lily pond. “It has been years since you left your bedchamber for breakfast.”

Dorothea sniffed. “How would you know? You are never here.”

“I am here as often as duty allows,” he insisted. “And I am to remain for an entire month, this time, so you cannot possibly complain.”

Dorothea took a pointed bite from a triangle of toast. “What is the truth, my boy?”

“Pardon?” Adam took some toast for himself, buttering it.

“What is the truth of this marriage? There is no possible way you have managed to capture the heart of such a charming, sweet girl. She is not the kind to be so easily swayed. So, how have you swayed her?”

Adam feigned outrage. “What if it is my heart that has been captured? What if I have changed my ways for someone, at long last? Is that not what you have desired all these years? Again, you cannot possibly complain. I am doing everything you have hoped I would.”

“But why?” Dorothea pressed.

Adam met her keen eyes, knowing he had been foolish to think he could hoodwink her. “Because I made a mistake, Mother, and marrying her is my penance.”

“What?” Dorothea gasped.

“I will not elaborate, but all you need to know is that you are right. She is sweeter than I deserve and is not like anyone I have ever met before,” Adam replied. “She is chaste, she is honorable, she has done nothing wrong, and she is stuck with me. So, please, continue to make her as comfortable as possible here, and let us all pretend that the story she told you is the whole truth, without embellishments. It is not far from the truth, she merely left out the mistake that I made, so let us leave it at that.”

Dorothea nodded. “Very well.”

“Thank you.”

Adam bit into his toast and poured some weak coffee, wondering if he ought to return to his bedchamber after breakfast. He had barely slept a wink last night, thinking of Nancy and how perfectly she had fitted in his arms as they danced, and how beautiful she had looked with her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright.

One more moment, and I would have kissed her.

He would not have been able to resist, for there had been magic in the ballroom the previous night, and she had been the conjurer, weaving wicked spells around his heart and mind. Deliciously wicked spells.

“You complement one another,” Dorothea commented, sipping her tea. “Far better than that Hewson girl.”

Adam laughed. “That Hewson girl that has been married for a decade?”

“Yes, and I am saying I am very glad you did not marry her,” Dorothea retorted. “Nancy is a much greater delight. I shall look forward to getting better acquainted with her. I always longed for a daughter, you know, but it was not to be. I was not destined to have any more children after you were born. A blessing, probably.”

Adam picked up his cup and stared into the dark brown liquid. “Certainly, a blessing. Not a kind one for you, but a necessary one.” He shuddered. “I dread to think what might have befallen a sister if I had had one.”

“As do I,” Dorothea replied, her hand trembling slightly.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between mother and son, both lost in their own sorrowful memories.

“So, I suspect we have both come down to breakfast for the same reason,” Adam said, unable to bear that pensive quiet any longer.

Dorothea frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”

“We both wish to see my wife,” he teased, putting on a show of humor once more. It was an easy mask to slip on.

Her frown deepened. “I assumed you would have—”

“No, and we shall not,” he interrupted. “And you are not to mention it.”

“I… do not understand.”

He took another mouthful of his coffee to wet his dry throat. “I am biding my time with my wife, Mother. There is no rush, and I would not frighten her.” He paused. “We shall be friends first.”

“Oh…” Dorothea smiled, her expression somewhat faraway. “That is a pleasant thing, indeed. I imagine there would be more successful, happy marriages if that were true for everyone—befriending one another before anything else, being one another’s confidantes above all else. Yes, that sounds like a very fine thing.” She hesitated. “But children can be a very fine thing, too.”

Never.

Adam shuddered inwardly, for though he had often risked the possibility of children, he knew he could not be a father. He did not know what it took to be a good father, for he had never experienced it. And the thought of failing was more terrifying to him than the thought of dying alone, without heirs or legacy.

Just then, Mrs. Holloway spared him from his discomfort, bustling into the breakfast room, bringing a dark cloud with her. “Your Graces, I’m sorry to inform you that Her Grace won’t be coming down for breakfast this morning.”

“What do you mean?” Adam was halfway out of his seat before he had an explanation.

Had Nancy fled in the night? Had his actions in the ballroom sent her away from Stapleton Court? He had almost gone too far, he knew that, but it was her magic that had made him think for a moment that he might like to be a proper husband to her.

The housekeeper held up her hands as if to block him from getting past her. “She’s not well, Your Grace. She’s been awake half the night with a fever, by all accounts, though she didn’t want to trouble anyone.” She tutted under her breath. “One of the maids found her this morning collapsed on the floor.”

“What?” Adam straightened up. “Why was I not summoned at once? When was this discovery made?”

“Not five minutes ago,” Mrs. Holloway replied. “All is well, Your Grace. She is being tended to, and I’ve sent Mr. Grealy to town to bring back the physician for her. But I have spoken with her, and though she is much too warm, and she says her head is pounding, she is not in any immediate danger.”

Adam marched past the housekeeper, regardless of her words, and broke into a run as he reached the entrance hall. He did not stop until he came to the fourth-floor turret that he had earmarked for her bedchamber, for it was usually reserved for visiting monarchs and was kept clean and neat at all times, just in case royalty did decide to visit. It had seemed like the only room worthy of his wife.

He was about to knock when a maid opened the door and almost ran into him. “Goodness! I’m sorry, Your Grace!” She staggered back, the water in the basin in her arms sloshing. “I was just going to fetch more for Her Grace, to cool her brow.”

“As you were,” Adam said, gesturing for her to step aside so he could enter the bedchamber.

The rules that applied to the servants at his London townhouse also applied at Stapleton Court. He did not touch them, tolerate flirtation, or put himself in any potentially precarious situations.

The maid nodded and hurried along, vanishing down the hallway.

“Mrs. Holloway?” a voice croaked from within the bedchamber.

“Not unless I have aged several decades, pulled my hair back so tight that I look permanently startled, and have grown the attributes of a lady,” Adam replied, stepping inside. “Our voices, however, are not too dissimilar. I understand the confusion. She has an exceedingly masculine manner of speaking.”

Nancy was lying in the comfort of a four-poster bed as wide as at least three people, the solid oak frame draped with gauzy purple fabric. An enormous fireplace took up most of the opposite wall to the bed, and a fire was roaring in the grate, warming the side of a giant copper bathtub that had been dragged from its usual spot in the far corner, behind a triptych screen. Cloths had been arranged around the inside of the bathtub, spilling over the edges, so Nancy would not burn herself when the tub was filled.

“I apologize,” she said in a raspy voice. “That was a very amusing jest, but I cannot laugh without coughing, and it hurts to cough.”

Adam went to her bedside, but instead of sitting in the chair beside it as he likely should have done, he decided to climb right up onto the soft mattress. He perched there for a moment, uncertain of what to do next, until instinct told him to damn propriety.

He swung his legs up onto the bed and lay down beside her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her cheeks a violent shade of red.

“Come here,” he said. “Rest against me. Let me give you my warmth, to break your fever more swiftly.”

She frowned. “Are you a physician now?”

“No, but it was something we learned in the militia.”

He slipped one arm beneath her and gathered her to him as carefully as he could, his broad shoulder supporting the weight of her head. He could feel the heat of her fever even through his shirt, and her beautiful fair hair was drenched in sweat.

“You… fought?”

Either she was delirious, or she had decided that the warmth of his body felt nice, for she nestled into his side and let her hand rest on his chest.

He laughed drily. “Briefly. Until my father had me hauled back to fair England. I had lied about my age, you see, and though they would not have minded if I had been a farmer’s son or a miller’s child, it was a rather different story for a duke’s heir.”

“You should go,” she mumbled, her forefinger delicately stroking the ridge of his collarbone. “You will get sick if you stay.”

He snorted. “Ridiculous. I have not been poorly in thirty years, and I shall not begin now. I have the hardiest constitution of any gentleman I know.”

“Someone will… smite you for making… such grand claims,” she wheezed.

He eased the blankets up to her neck, worried she might get cold. “Then let it be you, when you are recovered.”

“That shall give me strength,” she said with a sigh, her eyelids flickering. “It is… unfair how warm you are. You are like… a giant bear.”

“Not so hairy, I should hope.”

She made a soft, amused sound. “No, not so.”

“You rest, dear Nancy,” he told her, gazing down at her pale face and red cheeks, the dark crescents under her eyes.

She could not have looked more opposite to the essence of health and life she had been the previous night, twirling around the ballroom with him.

Did I do this to you? Did I make you sick, somehow?

“I will dream of… waltzing,” she mumbled, her eyes fluttering shut.

He lay there, holding her while the maids scurried in and out, filling up the bathtub with steaming water heavily scented with medicinal oils. Mrs. Holloway and Dorothea poked their heads in, too, but he barely noticed. All he could do was concentrate on his wife as if his undivided attention might be enough to cure her faster.

I have… never cared before.

Of course, he had taken care of his mother and had worried over her condition often enough, but he did not mean family. When his lovers and paramours had been unwell, they had been someone else’s problem, for that had been the nature of their arrangement. They had been tended to by husbands, mothers, friends, or sisters. Adam had shared only the good with the women who had passed through his life over the last ten years, sticking to his vow to seek joy and nothing else.

But holding Nancy, watching Nancy, listening to the sound of her breathing, observing the steady rise and fall of her chest, panicking a little each time it took longer for her to exhale, he knew he would have lain there beside her for a week if he had to, unmoving. Indeed, if he could have taken the sickness for her, he would.

What in heaven’s name…

Perhaps he had unwittingly caught an affliction the previous night, too. An affliction so devastating that it would turn his entire world, his very nature, on its head, killing the man he had been over the last decade in one fell swoop, leaving behind something—someone—he would not recognize.

“Mrs. Holloway?” he called, the next time the housekeeper entered to check the bathwater.

She looked up, smiling at the sight. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Might you do me a favor?”

“Certainly, Your Grace.” She clasped her hands together as if she were expecting some sweet request from a husband for his wife.

“Can you send word to Nancy’s cousin, Marina Wilkins?”

The housekeeper tilted her head. “For what purpose?”

“Nancy will need someone to take care of her, someone to stay at her bedside until this sickness abates,” he said firmly. “It cannot be me—I have other things to attend to. But I know that Miss Wilkins has nothing to occupy her. I would send for Nancy’s sister, but she has her own concerns.”

Mrs. Holloway seemed disappointed. “You don’t intend to care for your wife?”

“Intermittently,” Adam replied, not wanting to seem like an utter wretch. “But friends and family are better suited for this sort of thing.”

The housekeeper shrugged. “Very well. I’ll see that it’s done just as soon as this bath is ready. I suppose you won’t be wanting to help your wife with that either?”

“No. It would be best if I did not.”

“Will you at least stay where you are until the bath is ready?”

Adam nodded, watching his wife sleep. “I can manage that.”

But this slowly burgeoning affection had to cease, and playing the part of doting husband would not help matters. They could be friends, he would relish that, but he could not be what Nancy had dreamed about since she had been a little girl. He would not give her the hope that he could be that fantasy, for it would only hurt them more in the end.

“I will not see you hate me,” he silently vowed, knowing that his own heart would break just a little bit if she did.