“I know, and I need to finish searching it before they finish tea, and she is likely to come up.”
She blinked at such blatancy. “You still think Anne is the thief?”
“I don’t know that she isn’t. Help me or go, but for God’s sake, say nothing. If I’m wrong, and I hope I am, this will hurt her feelings.”
“And infuriate Kenneth.”
“Indeed.” He crouched down by the trunk once more, but after a brief rifle, he closed it, and pushed it back under the bed.
Helen, giving in to the inevitable, pulled open the drawers of the chest and quickly searched through Anne’s things, while Sir Marcus searched in the cupboard.
Finding nothing but a few clothes, some pearls Helen had seen Anne wearing at Steynings, and a notebook that appeared to be her personal journal, Helen hastily closed the drawers.
“There is nothing here. Anne is not the thief.”
“She is probably not the thief,” Sir Marcus corrected. “She could already have got rid of the other stolen items, though if she got money for them, it must be on her person, for it isn’t here.”
“When could she possibly have sold them?” Helen demanded. “She came straight here from Steynings and since then has been under Mrs. Robinov’s chaperonage. And yours.”
“I did not say it was likely,” Sir Marcus said mildly. “For our purposes, we need to look now into her family and their servants.”
“Then we are exonerating each other?” she asked wryly.
He walked toward the door. “I exonerated you from the beginning. You may search my chamber whenever you wish. In fact, I’ll go down for tea to allow you peace to work.”
“Thank you,” she said, following him to the door.
He paused, his fingers gripping the handle. “I think I must call at Audley Park, but I confess I cannot quite imagine any excuse that will enable me to search the chambers of Lady Overton’s guests and their servants.”
“The children would do it,” Helen blurted. Then, under the surge of amusement in his eyes, she dropped her gaze. “But not until I am there to look out for them. And you know, the Marshalls cannot stay there forever. It is almost Christmas, and Lord Overton will find a way to eject them before that.”
“I suspect they are angling for an invitation from me to Cotley Hall.”
“You could find a way to search them there,” Helen observed.
“That is a good point. I wonder if I could bear it? For purely selfish reasons, I would rather try Audley Park first.”
“Well, if Carla improves, I shall return there tomorrow.”
“Perhaps I might escort you. If Carla has improved.”
“Perhaps,” she managed. To be in his company so long would be exquisite torture. She doubted she could forego it…
He opened the door a crack and peered out before stepping back to open it further. It brought him too close to her, sending sparks of wicked awareness through her body. She could not help gazing at his intense, harsh-featured face. As always, it brought butterflies to her stomach, a bittersweet pleasure. He glanced back to make sure she was with him and caught her staring. For an instant, their eyes held, and the world seemed to stand still.
Then she tore her gaze free, and he stepped into the passage. She slipped out after him, as though she didn’t notice, didn’t feel his warmth, his hard strength, and quietly closed the door.
With a nod, she hastened down the passage to Carla’s chamber and went in to relieve the girl’s mother.
*
Mrs. Robinov took her dinner on a tray in her daughter’s chamber, allowing Helen to dine with everyone else. The mood was somewhat somber, although Kenneth did manage to make them smile by telling stories of his sister’s mischief when she was a child. The trouble was, it brought unshed tears to his eyes, causing Anne to take his hand in impulsive sympathy before glaring at Helen as though daring her to scold.
“She’s come through such attacks before, Kenneth,” Sir Marcus said quietly. “I believe she will again.”
Kenneth nodded and squared his shoulders. “You are quite right, but I see my mother in such fear.”
“She has coped with a great deal over the last year,” Sir Marcus said. “You all have. She is lucky to have such a strong son to protect and support her.”
Anne cast Sir Marcus a brilliant smile, and Helen felt guilty all over again for rummaging among her possessions in search of stolen goods. The girl had a kind heart and did not deserve their suspicion. Sir Marcus met Helen’s gaze with a faint, rueful smile, and she knew he was thinking the same thing.
Helen did not linger over dinner but went straight upstairs before dessert to relieve Mrs. Robinov. For some reason, her heart felt lighter than for some days, probably because she knew that whatever else clouded her emotions, there would always be friendship between her and Marcus Dain.
And then she opened Carla’s bedchamber door and found Mrs. Robinov prostrate on the bed beside her daughter, weeping.
Helen’s heart seemed to drop to her toes. “Oh, no,” she whispered, rushing across the room. “My dear ma’am…”
But Mrs. Robinov raised her head to reveal she was smiling as the tears rolled down her cheeks, and beside her, Carla breathed noisily, her eyelids fluttering.
“The fever has broken,” Mrs. Robinov gasped and reached out to hug Helen convulsively. With sheer relief and joy for her, Helen hugged her back.
*
Although he knew Carla was not yet safe, Marcus shared the family’s happiness at news of her progress. She had spoken to her mother and Kenneth, and gone back to sleep, a proper sleep this time that would let her rest and recover.
Dorothea was so uplifted by the improvement that she could not yet retire. Leaving Helen in charge of the sickroom, she had come down to the parlor, to talk nonstop to Marcus. He bore it with understanding, glad to see her spirits so restored.
After a while, she quietened down, watching Kenneth and Anne playing at cards on the now infamous carpet in front of the fire.
“She is a gem, that one,” she said abruptly.
“Miss Marshall?” Marcus said in some surprise, for while he liked her well enough, he would not have so described her.
“No,” Dorothea said impatiently. “Miss Milsom.”
“Ah. Then there, I agree with you.”
Dorothea turned her gaze back to him. “I thought you did.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning.
“I mean I am not blind, Marcus. There is something between you—”
“I have never laid a finger on her,” Marcus interrupted, scowling because it wasn’t quite true. He had laid both hands and his lips on her, and it had been enchanting. But that was not Dorothea’s concern.
“Well, perhaps it’s time you did,” she retorted. “Before someone else snaps her up.”
“I can’t, can I?” he muttered. “I am engaged to you.”
“She must know that is fustian!”
“Why must she?” he said brutally. “She is a governess. I am a wealthy baronet whom the world believes to be your lover.”
He hadn’t meant to blurt that out, particularly not while she was still so vulnerable to shock. And she did stare at him for a moment with sheer incomprehension. Then her eyes widened, and to his surprise, she sniggered.