22
The green bedchamber was large, and although a fire smoked and crackled in the fireplace, the room was still chilly. Theodora was glad to note none of the windows were missing glass panes, and there didn’t seem to be any strong drafts. Still, the bed was ancient, as were the threadbare velvet canopy and curtains, but at least an adequate amount of blankets were piled upon the bed.
A hand pressed to her temple, Jane sat on the edge of the mattress, looking up at Conner as if he could move heaven and earth.
“You should sleep,” he was saying in a tone one usually reserved for cantankerous children.
“I cannot. I’m in my traveling gown and—” A cough cut Jane short, wracking her with spasms.
Conner handed his handkerchief to the poor girl, who clutched it like a lifeline and then shot a pleading look at Theodora.
“So we need a night rail, do we?” she said briskly as she went to Jane’s trunk at the foot of the bed. “Some good news, Jane! Mrs. MacAuley has both honey and whisky, so your sore throat will soon be eased.”
“I cannot drink whisky,” Jane croaked. “I’m just cold, is all. Perhaps if I put my coat back on?”
Conner frowned at the fireplace. “It’s smoking like a ship afire. I’ll check the damper.”
Theodora found the night rail and a matching robe and carried them to the bed. “The whisky will warm you up and open up your lungs.”
“I had a sip of my brother’s once, and it burned most unpleasantly.” Jane pressed a hand to her throat and winced. “I’m coughing enough without it.”
Having adjusted the damper, Conner added a log to the fire. “Whisky often does the same to me, although I find that quickly taking another drink helps.”
Theodora lifted an eyebrow. “And then, after that, you’ll need another—”
“—and another, and another.” Conner grinned at her. “I cannae hide my secrets from you, lass. I never could.”
Her gaze locked with his, and she knew what he was thinking. He was worried for Jane, amused at Theodora’s instant understanding, irritated at the path this trip was taking, and mixed with all of this was his desire for her.
She could sense it from across the room, taste it on her tongue, feel it in the sudden weight of her breasts against her lace chemise. Her throat tightened and she wished with all her soul that she could partake of his passion.
She forced her attention back to Jane. “Let’s get you into that night rail. You need rest.”
“If you’ve nae need of me, I’ll take my leave,” Conner said.
“Thank you.” Theodora unlaced one of Jane’s boots, saying over her shoulder to Conner, “Could you let Mrs. MacAuley know we need a bed warmer?”
“Of course. If you need anything else, ring the bellpull. I’ll nae be far.” His boot steps echoed on the marble floor as he left.
Theodora fought the urge to watch him. “There. Both boots off. The doctor should be here soon.”
“I don’t need a doctor.” Jane’s rusty voice carried a hint of petulant tears.
“Of course you do.” Thea placed the girl’s boots beside the bed. “And while I know ’twill be a bother to see a doctor—”
“One I don’t even know.”
“He is sure to be the best to be had, or he wouldn’t be on Conner’s ship.”
Jane looked mournfully at the empty doorway. “That’s true. If Conner trusts him, then I do, too.”
“Quite so,” Theodora said drily as she helped Jane out of her gown and into her night rail. Jane shivered piteously and it was a relief to them both when she was done and could huddle under a blanket on the edge of the bed while they waited for the bed warmer.
A few moments later, Alice appeared with the needed implement, fussing under her breath as she stopped by the fire and used the tongs to place hot coals into the metal pan. “ ’Tis a sad day when a lady’s maid cannot perform her duties. I had to wrest this blasted thing from Mrs. MacAuley, I did. I’m the one as should be waiting on Miss Simmons, not that pasty-faced housekeeper.”
“Alice!” Theodora said reprovingly.
“Humph. Well, she is pasty-faced. And she don’t like having help, even when I know better than her how to do things.”
“You told her how to do something? In her own house?”
Alice sniffed. “It isn’t my fault if she don’t know the right way to cut candle tapers. And there I was, being nice and all!” The maid brought the bed warmer and slid it between the sheets, moving it in slow circles.
Soon the sheets were toasty warm, and Alice set the bed warmer on the hearth to cool while Theodora helped Jane into the bed. The warmed sheets did the trick and the girl was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.
Alice unpacked Jane’s trunk, and was just hanging up the final gown when Mrs. MacAuley appeared carrying a tray laden with a decanter, a small pot, and several glasses. She was followed by a young, awkward-looking girl who carried a pitcher of water and several washing cloths. The girl filled the bowl on the washstand from the pitcher, placing the cloths nearby, the sound of the water splashing into the bowl stirring Jane enough that she awoke.
“I’ve brought the whisky and honey as you asked, miss. There’s also a small vial of laudanum.” Mrs. MacAuley waddled to the bed and, after sending a frigid look at Alice, peered down at Jane. The housekeeper’s face softened. “Law, you’re but a child!”
Jane started to talk, although it quickly turned into a deep cough.
Mrs. MacAuley patted her shoulder. “There, lass, dinnae get excited. It cannae be guid for you.”
Thea poured a splash of whisky into a glass, added a large dollop of honey from the small pot and a few drops of the laudanum, and stirred it. She carried the glass to the bed. “Take a sip. It will calm that cough.”
Jane eyed the drink with misgiving, but she took a swallow and grimaced, her hand moving to her throat as she choked it down.
Alice chuckled. “We need to toughen you up a bit. I could drink more whisky out a teaspoon than you’ve got in that cup.”
Mrs. MacAuley frowned. “What a pert lass you are, to be telling a delicate miss like this that she needs to ‘toughen oop.’ ”
Alice puffed up like a threatened badger. “ ’Tis the truth, and Miss Jane will be a sight better does she know it!”
The housekeeper’s face turned bright red. “You are rude!”
“And you are a bossy old woman!”
Mrs. MacAuley planted her hands on her hips. “Why, I’ve never—”
“That’s enough! Out, the both of you.” Theodora pointed to the doorway. “Jane needs peace and quiet.”
With a final glare at Alice, Mrs. MacAuley gave Theodora a stiff curtsy, collected her things, and left, her maid following closely.
Alice snorted. “Good riddance, I say.”
“Out.”
“But I’m here to help—”
“Out! And while you’re gone, find Mrs. MacAuley and apologize. We’ll be here for two or three days, perhaps more, and I’ll not have you two warring the entire time.”
Alice sniffed, but after a moment, she grumbled, “I suppose you’re right; it won’t do to be on the wrong side of the housekeeper. She’ll assign me to a hard bed if I’m not careful.”
“I wouldn’t blame her if she did. She has her hands full, trying to care for this house without the proper assistance. She’s very shorthanded, and the house’s owner is never here and never leaves her enough funds to run it properly, and flatly refuses to take care of the place. Mrs. MacAuley has been placed in a dreadful situation.”
Alice pursed her lips and looked about her. “ ’Tis a shabby house. Some of the inns we stayed at were better kept.”
“Exactly. Mrs. MacAuley does the best she can, but there are limits.”
“Very well. I’ll apologize,” Alice said grudgingly, and then left.
Relieved, Theodora held up the glass of honeyed whisky and smiled at Jane. “A few more sips.”
“Oh, please. No more.”
“A few more, and I promise I’ll let you alone for at least two hours, if not more.” Theodora waited until Jane had choked down most of the whisky, then returned the glass to the tray. “There. Close your eyes and sleep.”
“I hate being ill!” Jane’s voice quavered.
“I know.” Theodora plumped a pillow and slid it behind Jane. “As my old nanny used to say, what’s for you will not go past you.”
“What does that mean?”
Theodora sat on the edge of the bed. “It means that what’s supposed to happen, will happen.”
“That seems dreadfully fatalistic,” Jane murmured. Her eyelids drooped as if weighted, but she moved restlessly, kicking at the covers and tugging at the sheets.
The girl clearly ached from her fever, but the whisky and laudanum would soon do their work. “Did you get to see much of Dunskey when we drove up?”
“No, not much.” Jane’s glassy gaze flickered around the room. “Mr. Douglas must be very proud of his house.”
“I wish that were so.”
Jane’s gaze returned to Theodora. “Why wouldn’t he be? It seems lovely.”
“It could be. But it’s neglected, a fact Mr. Douglas refuses to address. He is a man of the sea, and has no desire to settle down. So he leaves his house to rot while he sails the seas.”
Jane’s brow furrowed and she stifled a yawn. “Men never think of houses and homes the way women do. For us, it’s about comfort and restfulness, but men are taught from childhood that homes are buildings to be owned and even collected as if they were dollhouses. Why, look at all of the homes the king owns—castles, manor houses, lands—it’s absurd, for he cannot live in a hundredth of them.”
“This is Conner’s only home.”
“It’s his only house,” Jane gently corrected, her eyes fluttering as she fought sleep.
Theodora looked around the bedchamber, admiring the cornice work and trim. “This could be a lovely home. It was built in the Scottish style in the early 1700s. I don’t know if you noticed when we drove up, but the house has a hipped roof, decorative moldings on the cornices, and—I should save this lecture for when you’re strong enough to tell me you don’t wish to hear it.”
Jane managed a sleepy murmur: “Go on. I love old houses.”
“So do I.” Theodora arose and rinsed out a cloth and placed it on Jane’s forehead. “You’ll love this one once you’ve seen it; I do.” She softened her voice and continued, almost sing-songing as she spoke. “There are gabled windows on the top floor, where the nursery and servants’ quarters are, and there are six chimneys. The house is remarkably snug, even though it hasn’t been taken care of properly.”
Jane’s eyes closed, although her eyebrows were slightly drawn.
“The ceiling in the ballroom is especially fine, and the plasterwork is so masterful it will steal your breath. It’s of wreaths and small flowers, and is exquisite, although it could stand being cleaned, for you know how dust collects in crevices. There are also two especially fine mantelpieces in the ballroom, one of marble and the other of . . .” Theodora let her voice trail off as Jane’s expression relaxed, and her breathing deepened into sleep.
Poor girl. Theodora smoothed the covers over her, then turned to tiptoe out of the room—and came to a halt.
Conner stood just inside the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his brows knit.
Theodora’s heart skipped a beat. “I didn’t see you there,” she whispered.
He continued to look at her, his expression dark, as if he struggled with a weighty problem.
Theodora came a few steps closer. “What is it?”
“How do you know so much about this house? I know I never told you half of what you just shared with Jane.”
Blast it. He’d heard. She nervously wet her lips. “I don’t know. Perhaps . . . perhaps I read it somewhere.” To Theodora’s relief, Jane coughed in her sleep, the sound breaking the tension.
Conner’s gaze moved to the bed. “How is she?”
Thank goodness. He’ll forget he even heard what I said. “Not well. She’s hotter, I think. The fever grows.”
He looked at Jane a moment more before saying in a somber tone deep with emotion, “She reminds me of Anna.”
Surprised, Theodora glanced back at the sleeping girl. It took only a moment, and she realized Conner was right—the heart-shaped face, the sweetness of her expression, the paleness of her skin. “I don’t know why I didn’t notice that before.”
“Anna’s expressions were more determined, but she—”
Downstairs a door opened and then closed, and voices could be heard, footsteps climbing the stairs.
“That will be Murray. I will escort him here.” Conner’s gaze found hers, and she knew then that he hadn’t forgotten his questions. “We need to talk, lass. And soon.” He turned and left.