He needed to speak bluntly to Dorothea. But for now, everything took second place to making Carla well again. He could only try his best to support that effort, and do whatever had to be done when her fate was decided. He wasn’t normally a praying man, but he prayed now, intensely, for his friend’s daughter.
Only Kenneth could coax his mother out of the sick room for a meal or a brief walk in the fresh air. On those occasions, Marcus allowed Anne Marshall to be quite useful in cheering both Robinovs, while Marcus guarded the sick room.
It broke his heart to see the beautiful, lively child he remembered in such a condition. In fact, as he replaced the cold cloth on her forehead, rare tears pricked at the back of his eyes. “Bear up, my dear,” he whispered. “Be strong and defeat this, too…”
A knock on the door jerked his head up in time to see Helen walk in and close the door.
“You are up early considering when you went to bed,” he remarked.
She ignored that. “How is she?”
“Much the same. Her mother has gone for a much-needed walk with Kenneth and Anne Marshall.”
She nodded and gave a shiver, glancing at the open window.
“I thought it might help cool her,” he said.
Again, she nodded and went to the other side of the bed, leaning over to feel Carla’s forehead and wrist.
Watching her, he said abruptly, “Have you eaten?”
She straightened, shaking her head. “Not yet, but since you are here, I will just go and ask Mrs. Villin for a tray.”
When she had gone, Marcus paced about the room and forced himself to consider once more the Robinovs’ other major problem—the accusation of theft against Kenneth. Lacey would not leave it alone indefinitely, and the boy would need more than one character witness in face of the evidence discovered in his possession. Especially when the world believed that witness to be the long-time lover and current betrothed of the accused’s mother.
It seemed highly unlikely to him that the true culprit was a random thief picking his victims by coincidence. There was either fear or malice involved in planting those stolen objects in Kenneth’s trunk. So, he needed to investigate everyone who could have done it and find the remaining evidence—Silford’s candlesticks and, no doubt, some other out-of-place gewgaws.
The door opened abruptly, and Helen almost stumbled in carrying a heavy tray that included crockery, a coffee pot, and a large plate of toast. Marcus strode across the room and took the tray from her. At first, she resisted, as though determined to manage for herself, which she was clearly capable of doing. Or just determined to resist his help. Either way, she hung onto the tray a shade too long and their fingers touched.
Secretly, he loved the soft, firm touch against his skin. But her gaze flew up to his, almost stricken. For an instant, neither of them moved and then her hands dropped to her sides, and she turned away, muttering thanks.
Oh, yes, he had to fix this.
“Mrs. Villin sent up an extra cup in case you wanted some coffee,” she said distantly as he set down the tray on the table by the window.
“I will have some,” he said, watching her pour and hand him the cup and saucer, this time making sure their fingers were far apart.
Intolerable for her. Intolerable for him. He was not a man who normally indulged in small talk, but he had to say something to make her more comfortable, so he asked after her charges and gradually coaxed an amusing story out of her about her first meeting with the boys. By then, he had drunk his coffee, and he helped raise Carla from her pillows in order to drink the medicine Helen held to her lips.
“I think she’s swallowing it more easily,” Helen said, pleased.
“I hope so.” He lowered Carla back to her pillow.
“You are very fond of her and Kenneth,” Helen observed.
He shrugged. “I always liked them as children. Now, they are all that is left of their father.”
She glanced at him quickly. “How did you meet their father?”
“In Vienna. We were both traveling and fell into a friendship of fellow foreigners. We kicked up a few larks together as young men do. I even introduced him to Dorothea and her family, although it was another year and another city before they reached the closeness of an engagement.”
Her gaze was curious. “Did you love her, too?”
As soon as the question spilled out, she looked appalled and clearly meant to apologize, but Marcus was glad to answer. “Not in that way. I liked her sense of fun and was always glad to see her, but I pursued my own interests too selfishly to fall in love.”
“Until now.”
“Until now,” he agreed, looking directly at her.
But, of course, she misunderstood him. She thought he was still talking about Dorothea, for he caught the flash of pain in her eyes before she turned hastily to the washbasin and poured fresh water into it.
“I mean to bathe her, so you had better go,” she advised.
“Helen—”
She all but glared at him. “Yes?”
He had never felt so helpless in his life. There was nothing he could say to her in honor, not until he had at least spoken to Dorothea and preferably exonerated Kenneth, too. In the meantime, it seemed they both had to suffer.
“Nothing,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you to care for her.”
Chapter Twelve
For the rest of the day, with the help of Kenneth and Sir Marcus, Helen and Mrs. Robinov took turns nursing Carla. A servant from Audley Park appeared with a tonic from old Nurse, who swore it would break any childish fever within hours.
“Is this safe?” Mrs. Robinov asked Helen with some doubt.
“Perfectly,” Helen replied. “Nurse has great experience with illnesses, and I believe it helped the Maybury children when they were sick earlier in the year. It may or may not help Carla, but it certainly won’t harm her.”
“Then we’ll give her it between doses of the doctor’s medicine,” Mrs. Robinov decided, opening the bottle.
Helen helped her administer Nurse’s brew, and then went downstairs to enjoy a cup of tea with Anne and Kenneth. Fortunately, Sir Marcus wasn’t there, for his company made her heart ache. She refused to admit that she missed him. After ten minutes, she went back upstairs to relieve Mrs. Robinov, but outside the bedchamber door, she paused, for something bumped in the room beyond. Anne’s chamber.
Anne was downstairs with Kenneth. Mrs. Robinov, surely was still with Carla. Who else would be in the room at this time of day?
The thief?
Her breath caught. She took a step back toward the stairs, her initial instinct to call on Sir Marcus’s help. But again, pride got in the way. And the fact she would not risk the thief escaping.
She tiptoed along the passage to the next door, reached out to the handle, and threw it wide. She strode in—and stopped in her tracks.
From his position on the floor in front of a trunk, Sir Marcus gazed at her.
Her jaw dropped. Taking control, she opened her mouth to demand to know what on earth was going on.
But he put one urgent finger to his lips, rising and treading softly to the door, which he closed.
“What the devil are you doing?” she hissed furiously. “This is Anne’s chamber!”