Part 5 (2/2)

”No need to worry,” admonished Meg severely. ”He be not made of fine china and nothin' a boy enjoys more'n a romp in the snow. Ye've plenty on yer mind with the babe and yer lord. Alva, give Lady Juliane some broth and bread-no need to let yer strength go.

Over the next three days Lady Juliane was to hear those words often, and many more motherly admonishments as well. But as the days became one and she alternated between Lord Adrian's bedside and Leora's cradle, she became cloaked with exhaustion. The hours blended together and all her actions, other than the actual handling of the sick ones, became mechanical.

At last Leora was out of danger and a partial weight lifted from her, but still Lord Adrian lay in the grip of the fever.

Her actions toward him had taken a subtle change. In the hours she tended him, she learned much more about him than most people knew, who had been acquainted with him all his life. In his delirium, his babblings ranged from despair at the death of a pup when he was a boy to wild ravings in a French dialect she could not understand. Many of his mutterings were in French and it became apparent to her that he had dwelt on all levels of life in France. If she had been a simpering miss, much of it would have alarmed her greatly, or caused her to blush deeply. As it was, life in India and nursing soldiers had steeled her to most of it. Lord Tretain's ravings were intricately connected with the political foment in France, of

CHAPTER 6.

The sun slowly sagged into the mud-dappled, slush-covered horizon. Taking a deep breath, Lady Juliane stepped back inside the cottage, the wafting odours of freshly baked bread and a meaty stew greeting her.

”Is the broth ready?” she asked Meg.

”Aye, m'lady. But ye be eatin' a plate o' m'stew a'fore ye be goin' back up. I'll na take no for an answer-yer gown be hangin' loose enough already.”

Juliane blushed as Jove and his sons grunted in agreement. What the family had seen of this lady of

Quality put to the wall all they had ever heard, and they had taken her in as one of their own.

”Just a little then. Truly, I am fine and not a bit hungry.”

Meg laughed. ”A few hours sleep and she's actin' like this be a spell at Bath or some sech place.” She shook her head as she pressed Juliane to a seat. ”No room for wool pullin' around here. Ye're more'n due for a rest but reckon ye won't be pried from that man o' yern until ye be satisfied he's better. This night should be the test o' that.”

”You think so?” asked Juliane anxiously, having had the same thought earlier.

”Aye, it'll be a bad night, I be think'n, but then the worst should be behind him.”

”Yes,” mused Juliane. Glancing up, she caught sight of Alva playing with Leora before the fireplace. She smiled. ”We have so much to be thankful for.” The smile wavered and a tear came to the fore. She thought of all that Meg had done, tending Leora through those first two nights. Feeling a comforting hand on her shoulder, she looked around to the motherly face.

”Let's be hearin' none o' that. Eat up-Mallatt will be a waitin'.”

Mallatt was straightening the coverlets as Juliane came into the room.

”How is he?” she asked.

”His lords.h.i.+p is more restless. The crisis will be upon us soon.”

”He does look more flushed.” She handed the bowl of broth to Mallatt and sat on the bedside. Taking

Lord Adrian's chin firmly in hand, she began spooning broth between his lips. Succeeding in coaxing him

to swallow only a portion of a few spoonsfuls, she laid the spoon in the bowl, sighing.

”I suppose we must be satisfied with that. Have Alva bring up some of Meg's honeyed water. He seems to take that better, and we must get some liquid into him.”

”Yes, my lady.” Mallatt paused at the doorway, running his eyes over her worn figure. She cares for him as if he were her own-better than most wives I've seen, in truth, he thought as he watched her replace the snow-filled cloth on Lord Adrian's forehead and tenderly smooth back the tousled hair. His lords.h.i.+p please his mother. Why she'd even have grandchildren to occupy her time.

Yes, smiled Mallatt to himself, if he could contrive it so that they had to spend more time together, they could come to know one another, and then there would be a chance for the match.

Juliane glanced at Mallatt and was struck by the strange look playing on his features.

”Aren't you feeling quite well?” she asked, anxious lest he be taken ill also. He had been her mainstay through the past few days and it was as if he were a retainer of years with her instead of a chance acquaintance. Indeed, it was remarkable how much like a family they were becoming.

”I am fine, my lady. I will return as soon as I've had a bit of rest.”

Nodding in reply, she returned to trying to keep the earl covered. ”He is much worse; we will both have to stay the night with him-an hour only can you rest.”

Mallatt had no sooner left than the earl became very restless. Deducing that she could not control him standing beside the bed, Juliane rushed to the other side and, lifting her skirts, sprang upon it. Taking both his shoulders in hand, she attempted to press him down, urging him to calm himself as she did so.

”Teres, Teres, is it you? Is it you?” With violent force he flung her hands from his shoulders and grabbed hers instead. Fire-lit eyes stared into hers.

”I must ... you know I must...” he espoused wildly.

”Yes, yes, just lie back for a moment. You are not strong enough to go now. Rest. I will call you,” she a.s.sured him.

He responded momentarily to her voice and, releasing her, lay back. In an instant he grabbed her shoulders again, seemingly in a rage. ”You sc.u.m, you traitor. I should wrench your neck for you,” he spat at her.

”My lord, you mistake me for another,” Juliane countered boldly. ”You are ill. Lie back now.” Lord Tretain was sweating profusely, labouring for breath, but still he kept his brutal grip.

”Release me, my lord. You must lie back,” Juliane told him firmly as he continued to stare at her.

Slowly the rage, the wildness, died from his eyes, leaving only the searing heat of the fever and confusion.

Gently she reached up and took his hands from her shoulders. Picking up the snow-filled cloth that had been flung to one side, she smoothed it over his burning face. ”Lay back, my lord,” she urged gently. ”It will be better soon.”

He lay back, watching her face intensely as if trying to comprehend who she was.

”You were in a carriage accident, my lord. Close your eyes, rest,” she urged him soothingly. With a grateful sigh, she watched him relax and close his eyes. Taking a deep breath she was surprised to find herself trembling. He was a strong man; the feel of his hands was still on her shoulders.

After waiting a time to see if he would remain calm, she decided it was safe enough for her to go back to the bedside. As she began to move away, his eyes opened and his hand grabbed hers.

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