Page 33 of A Lord in Want of a Wife (Daring Debutantes #2)

L ucy waited until Cedric’s breath was deep and easy.

She’d spent a lot of time in the last three days listening to the cadence of his breath and wondering if it would end.

She’d spooned in broth whenever he stirred and prayed it would help.

It wasn’t until his fever broke last night that she’d begun to hope.

And now that he’d woken and taken shaky sips of soup, she began to believe he would survive.

It wasn’t a hundred percent. Not by a long shot. She knew that illnesses could turn on a whisper. But for now, she held his hand and felt a quiet reassurance run like a steady current between them.

It had always been thus. From the first moment they’d touched hands, she’d felt a connection between them. It made no sense. It certainly wasn’t any sign of a future between them beyond the contentious relationship they already had (no matter what Phoebe said). But it was reassuring nonetheless.

And so she held his hand and she breathed peace into her heart while silently damning him for bringing terror back, as well. Terror that he would die. Terror that they’d never share a kind word between them again. Terror that she hated him and terror that she didn’t.

As usual, he was making her head spin.

She heard the knocker sound and dreaded the interruption.

Her sister, Grace, was often indisposed with morning sickness, which left Lucy to cover the social duties.

Given that Grace was a duchess, those tasks were myriad, and Lucy struggled to fill them all, especially since she preferred to watch from the shadows.

But then she heard the telltale sound of Phoebe’s delightful laugh, and her fears melted away.

Phoebe was the one Englishwoman Lucy adored. She would be happy to while away some hours with her friend while Cedric slept.

Still, it took her a moment to quietly disentangle her hand from his.

She noted again how strong his hand had become.

There’d been a softness to him when they’d first met.

Honestly, it was a pleasing look. Men with sharp angles often had sharp tempers, and Lucy would not have warmed up to him so quickly if he’d been cut in harder lines.

Now his hand looked bony. She knew there was strength in him from the callouses that roughened his palm. And yet, his fingers still appeared long and elegant, emphasizing that he was an educated man. He even had a bump on his middle finger from where he gripped the quill.

How she wanted that fullness to return to his body. She stroked his arm one last time, pretending she could caress health into his body. Then she forced herself away.

Her steps picked up speed as she made it downstairs and heard her sister’s voice.

Good! Grace was feeling better this morning.

She found both women in the breakfast room.

Grace was nibbling on dry toast, her skin tinged with green, but her eyes were bright.

And better yet, she was chuckling at something Phoebe was saying.

‘You’d think it was obvious!’ Phoebe continued as Lucy walked in. ‘You cannot call me an encroaching mushroom one night then seek to invest in my brother’s newest venture in the next. My father might ignore such slights—’

‘Oh, I doubt that!’

‘—but my brother can be vindictive when someone insults me.’

‘He’s a good brother,’ Grace said as she set down the toast. ‘Though, to be fair, Lady Wilma didn’t care about investing. That was—’

‘Her family. Well, she had best understand now how the world works. Things are changing. Money isn’t just for the peerage anymore. I swear she pines for the days when the lady of the castle was worshipped hand and foot.’

Grace frowned. ‘Did that really happen?’

‘No. As I understand it, castle ladies worked very hard and had a special kind of courage. Not that you could convince Lady Wilma of that.’

‘That’s exciting!’ Lucy exclaimed as she gave Phoebe a quick hug. ‘I want to hear all about these courageous castle ladies.’

Phoebe returned the embrace only to pull back with a frown. ‘Goodness, you look pale. How are you faring?’ She squeezed Lucy’s shoulders. ‘Has it been awful?’

Lucy bit the inside of her cheek, appalled by how quickly tears flooded her eyes.

She could remain calm—downright placid—against all kinds of slights.

Indeed, by the time she was eight, nothing could bring her to tears except to physically break her bones.

But one soft look of concern from Phoebe, and her body began to expel emotion in a tsunami of symptoms.

‘Oh dear,’ Grace murmured. ‘Oh no. He’s gone?’

‘What? No!’ Lucy cried, trying to explain, but she couldn’t get the words out. Damn it, why was she crying? He was going to be all right!

‘I’ll ring for the doctor,’ Phoebe said. ‘Maybe there’s still hope.’

Lucy grabbed her friend’s arm before she could touch the bell-pull. ‘Don’t,’ she whispered.

She needed to pull herself together. She knew of only one way to bring her emotions to heel, one technique that always worked. She’d learned it from Ah-Lan, and it had always served her well.

Taking a shuddering breath, she used her method of last resort. She spat out the longest, filthiest stream of curses she could utter, partly in English, but mostly in Chinese. It was a long string of words, slowly losing strength as she lost breath.

And when she was done, she looked up to see both women staring at her with mixed expressions of shock and humour. The humour, of course, came from Grace, who understood her better than most.

‘He’s better, isn’t he?’ her sister asked.

Lucy nodded as she pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

‘Better?’ Phoebe asked, her expression filling with relief. ‘Is that how the Chinese tell someone good news? With a string of curses?’

‘No,’ laughed Grace. ‘It’s how Lucy does it because she is an odd one even among us half people.’

‘Don’t call yourselves that!’ Phoebe cried. ‘You are a full person no matter who your parents are. Mixed race, orphan or cit—we are gloriously wonderful women, and I shan’t hear a word against any of us.’

And that was why Lucy adored this feisty English beauty.

She never seemed to see the lines that people drew between each other.

As the daughter of a wealthy banker, she could have grown up as spoiled as Lady Wilma.

Instead, she judged people on how kind they were.

From the lowest beggar to the King and Queen themselves, she measured them on that stick alone.

And she held herself to the highest standard of all.

‘Here. Have some tea,’ Phoebe said, offering Lucy her own cup. ‘I haven’t touched it, and it always settles me.’

Lucy looked at the tea and winced. Phoebe liked her drink sweet, but that much sugar made Lucy’s teeth ache. Thankfully, Grace was already pouring her a new cup.

‘Thank you,’ Lucy murmured to her sister as she took her seat.

‘Now I can chatter, if you like,’ Phoebe offered. ‘Or we can wait in polite silence. Whatever you prefer.’

Lucy snorted. ‘As if you could wait in silence.’

‘I can!’ the girl protested, and she crossed her arms and pressed her lips together.

Grace and Lucy waited, sharing matching looks of amusement. Phoebe was generally irrepressible.

Sure enough, the silence lasted less than two minutes.

‘Very well, then. We’ll talk about something else.’ Phoebe pointedly turned to face Grace. ‘Tell me more about the baby. Have you felt it kick yet?’

‘Not yet,’ Grace answered as she dropped a hand to her barely protruding belly. ‘Soon, I hope.’

Silence.

‘Has the Earl visited again?’

Lucy tensed. ‘Not since the last time.’ Cedric’s father had demanded to see his son on the second night.

They had let him in, of course. No one wanted to deny a father access to his ill son.

But after one look at Cedric, he turned away, clearly disgusted.

And then, to everyone’s shock, he demanded the money from the cargo.

She’d denied him, of course. She knew the truth of the man, but he would not be denied. Indeed, he threatened violence until she told him who was the captain of Cedric’s ship. As if Cedric had been the owner.

The information was common knowledge, so she told him if only to get rid of him. And once gone, she’d barred the door to him until Declan returned. No servant liked denying an earl, even if the man was an unruly, violent blackguard.

‘Declan should be home soon,’ Grace said. ‘He’ll take care of it.’

Lucy hoped so. She did not relish another confrontation with the man.

And that was it. That was the extent of the conversation outside of Cedric. And so, after another long minute’s silence, both women turned to her.

‘Come on,’ Grace said with a gentle smile. ‘Tell us what happened.’

‘His fever broke,’ she answered with as little inflection as possible. ‘Last night. And this morning, he woke up and was completely lucid. I caught him sitting up on the edge of the bed.’

‘What?’ Grace said, abruptly leaning forwards. ‘I thought we had a footman in there night and day.’

Lucy shrugged. ‘I sent him to bed. No use in both of us losing sleep. But then I was hungry sometime after four. I ate some bread, stopped at my bedroom to get a new book, and…’ She shrugged.

‘Fell asleep?’ Phoebe asked. ‘It’s no wonder. You’ve been at his side night and day.’

‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Well, yes, but not for long. Oh, I don’t know. I’d already been in to see him, but then…’ She was babbling. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Of course it matters!’ Phoebe exclaimed. ‘You’re running yourself ragged for him. Everyone’s talking about it.’ At Lucy’s pointed look, Phoebe flushed pink. ‘Everybody but me, of course. There are bets on whether you’ll marry him before he dies just for the title. I heard it from my brother.’

And when neither Grace nor Lucy said anything, the girl lifted her hands in surrender.