That’s how he is known to me, Honoria protested. I’ve known him since I was six.
Good idea, Lady Winstead said. Then she stood and moved toward the head of the bed. Can you hear me, Marcus?His chin moved. Not much, but a bit.
You’re very ill, she said.Yes, yes, Lady Winstead said, smiling in return, stating the obvious, I know. But you’re going to be perfectly fine, I assure you. It’s just going to be a little painful at first.Honoria felt a wobbly smile touch upon her lips. She couldn’t believe that he could joke at such a moment. She was so proud of him. We’ll get you through this, Marcus, she said, and then, before she had a clue what she was about, she leaned down and kissed his brow.
He turned again to face her, his eyes now almost fully open. His breathing was labored, and his skin was still so terribly heated. But when she looked in his eyes, she saw him there, through the fever, under the pain.He was still Marcus, and she would not let anything happen to him.
Thirty minutes later, Marcus’s eyes were closed again, his sleep aided considerably by a dose of laudanum. Honoria had adjusted his position so that she could hold his hand, and she had kept up a steady stream of conversation. It didn’t seem to matter what she said, but she was not the only one who noticed that the sound of her voice soothed him.
Or at least she hoped it did, because if it didn’t, then she was utterly useless. And that was more than she could bear.He didn’t say it. He didn’t even look at her, but Anne felt the words nonetheless.
If you will be dining en famille, Anne said to Lady Pleinsworth, I should be most grateful to retire to my room. I find myself weary from the journey.Of course, my dear. You will need to reserve your energy for this week. I’m afraid we shal be working you to the bone. Poor Nanny.
Don’t you mean poor Miss Wynter? Frances asked.Anne smiled at her charge. Indeed.