Page 8 of While the Duke Was Sleeping (England’s Sweethearts #1)

“His Grace is standoffish,” Cordelia said, nestled in her bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as Adelaide, who had been awake for three hours already, took to her own hair with a curling tong. “Prior to Lady Jacqueline’s coming out last year, he rarely attended social events, even though he was in town while parliament sat. When he does attend, he refuses to dance or even engage in discussion beyond a minute or so, much to everyone’s frustration.”

“Everyone’s?” Adelaide asked, catching Cordelia’s eye in the mirror.

She pursed her lips. “The women of the ton , at least. He’s one of the few eligible dukes left. The others are married, ancient, or missing half their teeth.”

Adelaide arched a brow. “Except the Duke of Hornsmouth.” He was young, powerful, and he could have been Cordelia’s.

Cordelia grimaced. “Except Hornsmouth. I suppose he has a full set of teeth, even if one is wonky.” She turned her gaze to the bedspread, fingers tracing over the pattern.

“And he’s not ancient.” It was possibly unkind to push when Cordelia had made it clear she had no interest in discussing her former fiancé, but Adelaide still could not quite come to terms with Cordelia’s decision to forgo the security that would have come with being the Duchess of Hornsmouth.

“He’s not ancient.” Cordelia bit at the words, spearing Adelaide with a haughty look. “But Strafford is more handsome, if not quite so rich, and he has an air of mystery about him, which makes him the most sought-after guest. Far more so than Hornsmouth. And there is nothing left to say on the matter.”

Message received. Adelaide nodded. Discussion of Hornsmouth would end. They would focus on the task at hand—teaching Adelaide everything she needed to know about the Duke of Strafford and his family so that she could pull off the subterfuge convincingly. “But Strafford is rarely in London.”

“Yes.”

Adelaide gently pulled the hot tong from her hair, taking the curl and pinning it tightly to her head for it to cool in shape. “And his sisters?” That was the greatest risk in all of this, that someone in the house would know what Cordelia looked like and spot the ruse. His sisters posed the greatest threat if they’d attended the same balls as Cordelia.

Cordelia slipped her feet into her slippers, hugged her robe around her, and crossed to her cupboard to rifle through the meager number of dresses they’d purchased over the past few days, paid for with cash they’d acquired pawning a couple of jewels. Cordelia held one out, considered it, and tossed it onto the floor. It would take Adelaide hours to iron out those creases.

“I’ve never spoken with his sisters. Lady Margaret is Lord Everett’s twin. She married an archaeologist several years back, and then he left her to pursue his work almost immediately. It was all anyone could talk of, but it occurred before I was out.”

Adelaide thought back to the moment the duke’s family burst into his rooms. All three of the sisters bore a resemblance to Rhett, but he and Lady Margaret were almost identical. She was a shorter, softer version of him.

“Lady Jacqueline came out last year, but we’ve never interacted. She’s… bookish. She was invited to everything, of course. She is Strafford’s sister, and it was the only surefire way to have him attend an event, but she seemed utterly uninterested in the whirl.”

Quel horreur. Cordelia’s problem was that she had always been a duke’s daughter. Her good graces had always been sought, and she’d always been the center of the whirl. By the tone of her voice, it had never occurred to her that anyone would not choose those circumstances. But Lady Jacqueline was also a duke’s daughter, and it appeared this one did not care to conform. Adelaide liked that and was grateful for it. If Cordelia was right, Lady Jacqueline’s lack of interest in society meant she would not notice that the Cordelia who had been at her brother’s bedside was not the same Cordelia who had spun about a ballroom.

If her mistress was wrong?

She would deal with the resulting problems when and if they happened. Besides, Lady Jacqueline was not the sibling foremost in her thoughts.

“What about the brother? Have the two of you spoken?”

Cordelia wrinkled his nose. “I am not an attractive, married woman of the ton . Lord Everett had no reason to speak with me.” There was a sourness to Cordelia’s tone, as though hope and disappointment had mixed like milk and juice, turning rancid. “Besides, I’ve never met him in person. He spent the past years gallivanting around Europe. According to the rumors, he was even more debauched on the continent than he was in England. A rake in the truest sense of the word. He’ll notice you; you’re pretty enough. But once he discovers that you’re me and not a candidate for his bedroom, he’ll put you out of his mind.”

The thought stung. She hadn’t been able to put Rhett out of her mind since his hands grazed her thighs in the gentlest way. How deflating it would be if he could dismiss her so easily.

Adelaide shucked her robe and stepped into her petticoat, wrapping the strings of it around herself and deftly tying them at her waist. Her stays were front lacing, and she needed no one’s help to fasten them. The dress was another matter. They’d bought it for Cordelia, who’d refused to wear anything simple. As such, it required a second person to fasten the dozens of small buttons that reached from the small of her back to her neck. “You’ll need to help me,” she said.

Cordelia gave her an arch stare.

“This was your idea. If you want me to pretend to be you, then there will be times you must pretend to be me. Or we can cancel this entire charade and return to London.”

Cordelia’s lips thinned, but she made a circling motion with her finger, and Adelaide turned.

As her mistress fumbled with the buttons, Adelaide stared at her reflection in the mirror. With the exception of that jewel-laden monstrosity of a wedding gown, this was the finest clothing she’d ever worn. It was a simple day dress, nothing a proper lady would think twice about. Cordelia owned three dozen of them in different shades back in London. But the fine muslin was soft beneath Adelaide’s fingers. The lace at the neckline and waist was pretty. The gentle bustle gave her a curvaceous shape that made her feel rather special. Women who wore dresses like this worried about how full their dance card was or who to invite to a country party. They didn’t worry about how to remove punch stains from satin.

“Spill nothing on it. I only have three now.”

“I will be careful,” Adelaide said, turning to face her. “With any luck, the duke will wake this morning. His body likely just needed a solid night’s sleep. I’ll go in, make the request, and be out before anyone else in the household has woken up.”

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

The duke didn’t stir. Adelaide looked at the butler who, after quickly masking his shock at her appearance at such an early hour, had escorted her to the duke’s bedroom where a footman leaned against the back wall, his eyes drooping. Mr. Daunt coughed, and the lad sprang upright, eyes darting side to side, widening in surprise as they settled on Adelaide.

She couldn’t blame him. It was beyond unusual for an unmarried woman to enter a man’s bedroom, but the situation was hardly normal. No one could honestly believe something untoward would occur when the duke was still unconscious.

“Has there been any sign of him waking?”

The butler shook his head. “None, my lady. We’ve had someone watching over him at all times, but he hasn’t so much as shifted.”

“How lovely it must be to sleep so soundly.” She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. The man was unconscious with a head injury that her mistress had given him. He might not ever wake up. Still, Adelaide couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone more than a few hours without waking. She’d thought that she’d sleep better once she took a permanent position, but staring up at the same roof night after night had made her uneasy.

It had to have been because the roof was not her own. The only other explanation was that having a fixed address wouldn’t satisfy her at all, and that was not possible.

“Can I get you anything, my lady?” Mr. Daunt asked.

“Tea would be lovely, please.” He exited, and Adelaide left it thirty seconds before she turned to the footman in the corner, who was eyeing her curiously. “There’s a draft,” she said, rubbing her arms for effect. “Would you fetch a blanket? Several, in fact.”

He hesitated, looking first at the duke, and then out the door after the butler.

“I promise, the duke is in no danger from me.” She gave him her most winning smile. Just leave, damn it. I have no desire for a witness.

The footman shuffled foot to foot. “You’re to marry the duke? When he wakes, I mean, my lady?”

Somehow, Adelaide didn’t let her winning smile crack. She knew what he was thinking. If she truly was to marry the duke, then she would be his mistress. Her words would carry more weight than even Mr. Daunt’s. But she was not his mistress yet. She was a stranger imposing upon the household at a turbulent time.

She raised a brow in her haughtiest possible manner. “On the very off chance Peter wakes in the few minutes it will take to fetch a blanket, I will ring for Daunt.” Her use of the duke’s given name was a deliberate move to imply an intimacy that didn’t exist.

“Very well, my lady,” the footman said, fooled by a clever turn of phrase. “If you swear to ring the moment he moves.”

“I swear it.” My God, she was good at lying. If the duke woke, she’d ring no one. She’d need every second alone with him that she could wrangle.

Indeed, the moment the footman left the room, she hurried to the duke’s bedside, where four armchairs had been dragged. “Wake up.” She took him by the shoulders and shook him. Hard. “Your Grace, I really must insist.” But though his head lolled to the side when she released him, there was no sign of life.

She took his head in her hands to straighten it and paused. “I’m terribly sorry,” she whispered, and then she slapped him gently. When he didn’t respond, she slapped him a little harder, wincing as she did so, even though she knew she’d not hit him hard enough to hurt.

She looked about the room for something, anything, that might be a solution. There was a pitcher of water on the duke’s desk. Bloody hell, Adelaide. Only a truly terrible person would even consider it. Or a desperate one. She needed the duke to wake now. She needed to resolve the matter before his siblings woke and an awkwardly uncomfortable situation became an impossibly complicated one.

Taking in a deep breath, she dumped the water on his face. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t react at all to the shock of it, or the rivulets that now ran down his brow, his cheeks, and his jawline.

Damn it. She slumped into the chair closest to him and stared. He was good-looking. Perhaps even as good-looking as his brother, if she considered it logically. But her stomach didn’t twist for him the way it did when she looked at Rhett. She didn’t shiver at the sight of him. She’d had the unusual chance to see both men dripping wet, hair plastered to their face, and it suited the younger brother much better.

Adelaide’s gaze traveled to the small table by the bed. Needles, thread, and a half-done embroidery were neatly piled there. On the chair next to her was a woman’s handkerchief, creased and crumpled as though it had been twisted, straightened, and wrung again over and over.

His sisters had clearly set themselves up by his bedside last night. “Your siblings love you,” she said, trying to ignore the envy that slid down her spine. She would give everything to experience that constant affection. Almost. “I hope you don’t die—truly, I do—but if you did, you would not die alone.”

Adelaide would be alone. If she passed today, Cordelia might feel sad for a moment, until she felt frustrated at the inconvenience of having to train a new lady’s maid, but no one would sit by her bedside. No one would lay flowers on her grave. Life would move on as if Adelaide hadn’t existed.

It was partially her fault. Logically, she knew that if she wanted people to love her, she had to allow them close enough to do so, but what was the point? In every instance, she’d had to leave—either because her father or her work demanded it—and the friendship had been lost. It was far safer to eschew friendships entirely, even if that meant being jealous of the duke. Given the pinched faces of the servants, the uneasy chatter in the halls, the somber pall that rested over the house, he would be well mourned.

She swallowed back the lump that had formed in her throat. “I hope you know how lucky you are to have people who care for you. Not everyone gets to have that.”

Some people were destined to travel this mortal coil alone. For her entire childhood, it had just been her and her father, and he’d hardly been doting. Most days, she hadn’t been sure he hadn’t forgotten her. She’d been sixteen when he passed. Since then, it had been just her trying to find a spot on which to settle, somewhere where she felt she could put down roots, but nothing had felt right. So, when publishers would ask her to write a piece about some far-flung city, she would acquiesce, thinking perhaps her next destination would be the town that she needed.

She shook her shoulders, determined to throw off the maudlin cape that had fallen over her. “For what it’s worth, I never meant to lie to them. This whole debacle is all Cordelia’s fault. That girl doesn’t have a shred of sense. I’m sure had she told the truth and waited for you to wake, we could have resolved all of this without the lies.”

There was no response from the duke. Not even the flicker of an eyelid. There was, however, one drop of water on the very tip of his nose, so perfectly balanced it had yet to fall. Adelaide took a handkerchief from the cuff of her sleeve and leaned over him, dabbing his nose, cheeks, and brow free of the damp she had created. “If you would do me the favor of waking right now, I would really appreciate it.”

There was a cough, and Adelaide jumped. “Lady Cordelia,” Lord Everett said, his hair mussed, his eyes blurred, his body heavy with sleep—or a hangover, if the slightly pallid tone to his skin was any indication. The duke’s man of business stood close behind. “I did not expect you over so early.”

She had hoped to be in and out, job done, before the family woke. “I’m an early riser.” She gave him a weak smile. It was the truth. She was often up before the sun. When she was traveling, an early start to the day could be the difference between a hot dinner and bed that night, or an apple and a hunk of cheese in the corner of some farmer’s barn.

“Well, that is unique amongst the ton ,” Rhett said, suspiciously.

“I know, you all lie abed until midday.”

He quirked an eyebrow, and the duke’s man of business frowned, as though they had noticed the way she’d distanced herself from his peers. Proof, if they had caught it, that she didn’t belong. That she was an impostor.

Rhett smoothed out his expression and crossed the room to stand beside his brother. “No change?”

“I’m afraid not,” Adelaide said.

She held back a sigh as the sisters tumbled into the room in a kaleidoscope of colorful robes, twisted hair rags, and wails. Adelaide stood, ready to leave.

“No change ?” the youngest said as she threw herself on the duke’s bed, burying her face in his neck. The eldest one, Margaret, put an arm around Adelaide’s shoulder, pulling her close and patting her comfortingly, as though Adelaide was a grieving family member, which, she supposed, she was meant to be. She raised the damp handkerchief to her eyes and dabbed away nonexistent tears.

Good Lord, you need to get out of this situation, Adelaide.

“Why is Peter wet?” the youngest asked, sitting upright, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Oh heavens. The empty pitcher was right there, all the evidence one needed to realize she’d been torturing a helpless man.

Margaret tensed, her fingers digging into Adelaide’s shoulder. “He hasn’t got a fever?” There was a thread of anxiety in her tone.

The man of business pushed past the siblings and bent over the duke, putting the back of his hand against the duke’s forehead, then cheek, then forehead again. “He doesn’t seem to be hot, but he’s clearly been sweating throughout the night.”

All three of the girls started talking at once, getting progressively louder as they each strove to be heard over the others. The end result was an unintelligible cacophony. What Adelaide would give to be the duke, separated from the chaos by unconsciousness.

“Jac.” Rhett ran a hand through his hair. All three ignored him.

“Lady Pallsbury had a fever for three days last season. She swears it was the leeches that saved her.”

“Should we open a window?”

“Has someone sent for the doctor? We need the doctor.”

“Remember when Jac was three and had a fever? The doctor piled her with blankets so she could sweat it out.”

“Someone fetch a blanket.”

“We should bathe him. If he’s been sweating all night, he’ll be smelling ripe in no time.”

Rhett sighed. “Winnie.”

“You know, I’ve never seen Peter sweat before.”

“There are bound to be leeches in the woods, surely. There’s a stream that runs right through them.”

“Can a person not sweat at all?”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be marvelous? I swear, there comes a point where the ballroom is so crowded I can barely breathe and sweat drips right down my drawers.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Rhett said. “Jac! There are some images I do not want in my head.”

Adelaide caught the eye of the Mr. Gray, the duke’s man of business, who she’d met just days ago when signing the cottage lease. He shook his head at her, as though he’d given up swimming against the tide. He had the duke’s wrist in his hand, his finger pressed against the light blue veins. “Peter’s pulse is quickening.”

Of course the man’s pulse was quickening. Not even the dead could be unmoved by the caterwauling.

“Somebody call for a doctor,” the youngest wailed.

“We should have given the doctor a room. It will take an hour to fetch him. What if Peter doesn’t have an hour?” Margaret started fanning her face.

For heaven’s sake. “The duke likely just needs some fresh air and some quiet,” Adelaide said. “Perhaps we should try staying silent, just as a precaution.” It was a long shot, and more for her benefit than the duke’s. She didn’t know if the duke’s siblings could even be quiet.

Adelaide strode to the window and thrust open the curtains. The morning winter sun was pale. She cracked the window just enough for cool, crisp air to flow through. She inhaled deeply. The air inside the room had turned suffocating when the siblings had entered, and for a moment, she could forget they were there and simply enjoy the quiet she was used to.

But only for a moment. The sisters had collectively held their breath, as though it was the only way to keep from speaking. Once that breath was exhausted, they exhaled.

“He looks better, don’t you think? The fresh air is helping.”

“Quite. He has some color to him.”

“Peter has always been pale. He spends far too much time indoors. Rhett, put your arm to his. Compare your color.”

Rhett pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will not compare my arm to his. It’s hardly fitting to compete with a man when he’s indisposed.”

“I do think you are more tanned. It is to be expected, I suppose, when one spends all their time shirtless.”

“I do not spend all my time…” He huffed. His sisters were baiting him, and he knew it. Adelaide could see him rein in his frustration.

“According to the newspapers, half of Europe has seen you in a state of undress.”

“Remember the Trevi Fountain? He was found sitting shirtless in the water, asleep against the stone.”

Rhett shook his head, as though fighting back a retort. He lost. “I was not shirtless. My shirt might have been transparent when wet, but it was on my body, so it still counts.”

An image of Rhett assailed her. Him almost naked, a soaked shirt clinging to him, revealing every ridge of muscle and the shadow of hair on his chest. Good God. Despite the crisp breeze coming through the window, heat crept over her.

Adelaide couldn’t help herself. “You seem to have formed a habit of being wet, my lord.”

Rhett threw a sharp glance over his shoulder at her. “Let’s not start on who was responsible for my last soaking.”

“The same person who prevented you from being squished like a bug?”

Mr. Gray tsk ed, drawing the room’s attention. “His heart rate went down, then it rose again. I believe the quiet helped.”

“Well then,” Margaret said, shooing her siblings from the room. “Quiet is what he’ll have.”

“Why does she get to stay?” Edwina asked, gesturing to Adelaide.

Because I have no hope of a private conversation with the duke unless you are gone.

“She doesn’t,” Margaret said. “Lady Cordelia is joining us for breakfast.”

“Oh no. Please. That is unnecessary. I ate before I came.”

“Don’t be silly.” She took Adelaide by the arm. “You are family now, and family eats together. Besides, we want to know everything about you. We will leave no stone unturned.”

Which was exactly what Adelaide was afraid of.