And then she wondered nothing else because sleep descended on her, and she gratefully succumbed.
EVERY MUSCLE IN HIS body ached, including a few he hadn’t known he possessed. For a long while, Hew lay still, assessing his injuries. His side still hurt as though someone had pressed a hot poker to it. His head pounded, which made his eyes throb in turn. His arms, legs, hands, feet, even his hair felt raw and wounded. But he was alive.
He was also clean. He caught the scent of soap and his skin felt free of the sweaty grime from the days of fever.
He opened his eyes and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. Then he stared at the unfamiliar man who peered down at him. “Good morning, sir,” the man said in accented English. Hew couldn’t place the accent at the moment, not with all the pounding and aching distracting him.
“Feeling better?” the man asked.
“No,” Hew croaked.
That didn’t seem to deter the man, who lifted Hew’s eyelids, one by one, then prepared a tincture from a liquid in a blue glass jar, which he unceremoniously dumped down Hew’s throat. Hew would have objected, but the task was accomplished before he’d even realized what was about to happen.
This man had to be a quack. No one else would have been so efficient and skilled. “Your fever has broken, and I imagine you are hungry,” the quack said.
Hew was hungry. He was starving, in fact.
“I think you might eat a little broth. I’ll have some sent up. You can manage that?”
“Yes,” came a feminine voice Hew recognized. He turned his head and found Miss Howard curled in a chair near the fire. She was watching him, her brown eyes calm.
“Good. Keep him quiet and still. I will return in the morning.” The quack departed through a door, and Miss Howard took her lamp from the table and carried it to the bedside. Not only did she look less harried, she looked rested. Gone were the purple bruises under her eyes and the lines of strain. Her honey-blond hair looked clean and neatly secured at her nape with a ribbon. She wore a gown of some expensive material that didn’t quite fit her, being too long and a bit too large.
He noticed she approached with her head tilted so her right side was visible and her left shielded. She was hiding her smallpox scars. Hew could imagine the teasing and pain she’d experienced because of them over the years. And yet, she was beautiful. It wouldn’t be the first time people couldn’t see past a small imperfection to the beauty beneath.
Good God, what had been in that tincture? Next he’d be writing a treatise on injustice in the world.
She paused and gave him a wary look. He’d been staring at her, and now she probably felt uneasy. “What is it?” she asked, and her hand went to her scarred cheek.
“What was in that tincture?” he said. “It’s making me philosophical.”
“That’s an impressive word. You must be feeling better.”
“Yes, when I dredge up the five syllable words, that’s always the first sign of healing. You look rested.”
She dipped her head again, and Hew wished he could put a finger under her chin and nudge her to look directly at him. She would doubtless not appreciate that gesture. She’d look at him directly when she trusted him, and now that he was feeling better—at least that’s what everyone told him—he wouldn’t be in her presence much longer. Certainly not long enough to develop any sort of relationship. That was a good thing.
“I should look rested,” she said. “I slept for fourteen hours.”
He tried to sit at that revelation, but pain seared through him. So apparently, he wasn’t feeling that much better. “Have I been asleep fourteen hours?”
“No.”
Thank God.
“Much longer than that.”
“What?” He could have sworn she smiled at his dismay.
“You’ve been asleep two days.”
“Lady Keating—”
“Has long since departed.”
“What do you mean?” He’d come here to solicit her help. Had she gone to summon reinforcements?
“She had a family matter to attend to and took advantage of a break in the rain to leave Town. She left the morning after we arrived.”
Hew squinted at the room, but with the curtains drawn, it was impossible to know what time of day it was. “And what morning is it now?” he asked.
“It’s night. This will be our third night here.”
He really had slept for days. With that much rest, he should feel better than he did, but then he probably hadn’t eaten anything other than that awful tincture. He’d been right to send to Lady Keating. She’d have written to Baron of his state. Hew only wished he might have spoken to her and explained his theory of who was behind the attack on him. But now he could go to Baron himself, provided he wouldn’t pass out on the train.
“What are you doing?” Miss Howard asked when he pushed the covers off. Hew looked down and discovered he wore a shirt and no trousers.
“Standing up. You should probably avert your gaze.”
“You cannot stand up. Mr. Not-Smith said you had to stay in bed.”
“Who?”
“The doctor. Lady Keating said his name was Smith.”
“His name probably isn’t Smith.”
“Clearly.”
“The quack also said my fever had broken,” Hew continued. His head was pounding a little, but it was nothing he couldn’t manage. “That means I can get out of bed.”
The bed chamber door opened, and a maid entered with a tray. “Oh, dear,” she said, eyes widening at the sight of Hew’s bare legs. “Sir, you are not to get out of bed.”
“Help me get him settled again, Mary,” Miss Howard said. Together the two women managed to cajole his legs back under the covers and to prop him up on the pillows so Miss Howard could feed him broth. Hew immediately took the spoon and fed himself. The broth tasted amazing, which told him he must be starving. Whatever was in that tincture had begun to work its magic as well. He was indeed feeling better.
“Would you bring tea, Mary?” Miss Howard asked. “I think a chamomile would be soothing for Mr. Arundel.”
“Yes, missus, I’ll be right back. Would you like the tea you had last night?”
“The Mutan White? I can make it.”
“No, no. It’s no trouble for me. You stay here with Mr. Arundel.” And she was gone. Hew wondered if she was the one who had bathed him or whether one of the male servants had done it. Humiliating to be so weak as to need a sponge bath, but he was grateful to be clean.
Hew sipped his broth and studied Miss Howard. “You’re not used to servants.”
“I don’t like being waited on when I’m perfectly capable of doing things myself.”
He ate more broth. “This isn’t your house, and it would be more trouble to show you where everything is than just to do it for you. Besides, I imagine the servants want you out of the way.”
Her eyes widened with affront. “Why? I’m no nob.”
“You’re not one of them either.” His spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, and she took the tray from him. “I’m surprised you stayed. I would have thought you’d have gone directly back to your shop.”