A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(63)

The doctor looked as though he were speaking of a rise in the cost of tea, instead of the uncertain fate of the sweetest, loveliest girl in England.

“But we will hope for better things. She is young, and, I daresay, quite strong. She could recover and never have a second bout of it. However, she must guard her health, as all ladies should, by wearing something around her neck in cool weather.” The doctor scowled. “Ladies’ fashions these days present a mortal danger. Exposing their shoulders and necks, wearing these thin muslin gowns in all kinds of weather—it is a wonder they aren’t all dying an early death.” He gave Leorah an accusatory look.

“Remember,” he continued, addressing Leorah now, “she needs nourishing food, not just broth, as often as you can persuade her to eat. She must regain her strength, and she must not be left alone. I cannot imagine what Mr. and Mrs. Wilhern were thinking. A grievous neglect, to be sure.” He humphed as he turned to leave. “Send for more laudanum and my special cough remedy when that runs out,” Dr. Alcott called over his shoulder.

“Of course.” Addressing Nicholas, Leorah said, “I’ll be here until you get back with Cora.”

He nodded and then hurried to catch up with the doctor, who was staring down at his feet as he descended the stairs.

“Pray, send your bill to me.”

“Nonsense. I’ll send the bill to Mr. and Mrs. Wilhern with a stern note telling them they should take better care of their niece, poor girl.”

Nicholas could think of a few stern words he’d like to send them as well.

He made haste to ride back home and fetch Cora and Polly. When he told them both of Miss Grey’s terrible illness and how she had no one but the scullery maid to take care of her, they both clucked their tongues and muttered diatribes about the poor dear’s wretched lack of care and then hurried to collect enough things to stay away from home for a few nights.

“I will take very good care of her, don’t you worry, Mr. Nicholas.” Cora gazed at him with obvious compassion in her gray eyes. She even reached out and squeezed his arm.

Were his feelings so apparent? He’d thought he was hiding them, but Cora knew him too well. It hardly mattered who knew his strong regard for her if she should . . . But she would not die. She would recover. God would not let her die.

When Nicholas arrived at the Wilhern residence with Cora and Polly, he left the two of them with Kitty, who would show them where they could put their things. Then he climbed the stairs two at a time to Miss Grey’s door. He knocked softly and then opened it.

He couldn’t see Julia because the bed curtains hid her face, but Leorah walked toward him. “Are Cora and Polly here?” she whispered.

“Yes. How is she?”

“She’s sleeping.”

He walked toward the bed, determined to see her before he left. He pushed the bed curtain aside. Her face was pale and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. But with her hair all about her face in a riot of dark, silky strands, she still looked beautiful. As he stared down at her, he became aware of a soft wheezing, and then a rattling, at regular intervals and realized the sound was coming from her chest as she breathed in and out.

“The poor thing is worn out,” Leorah whispered behind him. “So weak she couldn’t sit up. The coughing has kept her awake, but the doctor gave her laudanum to help her sleep.”

Nicholas couldn’t take his eyes off Julia. God, please make her well. Make her strong. She is too beautiful, too brave and good, too young, to die. She was far superior to any of the Wilherns, in character and every other way.

In fact, she was far superior to any girl he had ever met.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


Nicholas paced the room, staring out the window where twilight had already fallen. Had the Wilherns deliberately left her here, alone, knowing she was ill?

But was Nicholas any better? He had left her in harm’s way and had gone days without ensuring she was still safe. Of course, it was dangerous for him to show any undue interest in her, but he should have been more attentive. He would not make that mistake again.

After Henrietta had run away and broken their engagement, he’d never thought he could feel so much for a woman again. But he hadn’t even known what love was then. Love had been little more than his attraction to a pretty face and a lovely smile and what he had thought was that lady’s innocence and artlessness. He had been easily duped. But Miss Grey was much more than a pretty face. She had sense and understanding, moral fiber and compassion. He did not like remembering how she had attempted to influence him to like her cousin, while at the same time trying to attract that insipid Mr. Dinklage. But how could he blame her? Julia’s family had assured her she was destined to be a governess. It wasn’t as if Nicholas had expressed any particular interest in her—or had much to offer her. He had vowed not to marry for quite a while.

He sat down at the pianoforte. How many times had Miss Grey sat at this instrument? How many hours had her fingers touched these keys and brought forth music? He sat on the bench and ran his hands over the instrument. Then he noticed the music. These were Miss Grey’s own original compositions. He’d never known she wrote her own music.

“Mr. Nicholas?” Cora stood in the doorway.

He leapt out of his seat. “Is she better? May I see her?”

“I believe she is a little better after her long sleep.” Cora moved slowly up the steps, pausing to look back at him. “We persuaded her to eat. It is a mercy and a blessing, for she can’t get her strength back without eating. Even her color is better.”