Ethan: Lord of Scandals

Eighteen

Fever. Barbara’s final illness had started with fever. Memories of helplessness and panic clawed their way into Ethan’s mind.

“Let’s see to your brother,” Ethan said, picking Jeremiah up and returning him to his room. “It’s probably just a passing cold or sore throat. He’s been sick before, and I daresay he’ll be sick again.” He kept his tone brisk to hide his anxiety, but any minor illness or injury could claim a child’s life. Colds turned into lung fever; cuts became infected; a bump on the head became a coma.

“Shall we fetch Miss Alice?” Jeremiah asked, glancing longingly at his governess’s door.

Ethan hugged his son for reassurance. “Let her sleep for now. If Joshua is ill, we’ll need to take turns sitting with him, and Miss Alice will need her rest. Joshua?”

“Papa?” The child’s voice was groggy.

Ethan set Jeremiah down and sat on the narrow edge of Joshua’s bed.

“Your brother says you are unwell.” Ethan laid the back of his hand on Joshua’s forehead. “I am inclined to agree. You have a fever, sir.”

“I’m hot,” Joshua muttered, shifting restlessly in his bed. “And I hurt, and my throat hurts, and I have to pee.”

“The last is easily taken care of.” Ethan flipped back the covers and hoisted Joshua from the bed.

“C’mon, Joshua.” Jeremiah took his brother’s hand, and while Ethan tried to calm the rising flood of panic in his gut, both brothers made use of the chamber pot.

Joshua blinked at his father and knuckled sleepily at one eye. “Is it time to get up yet?”

“Not quite.” Ethan looked his son over. No red spots were emerging on the child’s body, so the illness wasn’t chicken pox. What else could it be? Barbara’s typhoid had started just this way. “Joshua? Is your stomach at all sore?”

“A little.” Joshua yawned as he stood before his father. “Here.” He pushed on himself. “Not a lot, but achy.”

Ethan ran a hand through his hair. “Back into bed with you, and back to sleep if you can manage it. We’ll have you feeling better, though it may take some time and cooperation on your part. Jeremiah, I’ll set Davey outside the door, and you’ll call for him if there’s need before I’m back.”

“Yes, Papa.” Jeremiah sounded worried but not as badly spooked as he’d been when Ethan had found him.

“I’ll be back soon to make sure you’re sleeping.” He mustered a mock glower for Jeremiah’s benefit. Joshua’s eyes were already closed.

God above, Ethan was going to be sick, so miserably did anxiety choke him. He was standing beside Alice’s bed without knowing how he got there, hating that he had to wake her but unable to manage otherwise.

“Sweetheart?” He crouched beside the bed, bringing his face level with hers. “Alice? Love? Wake up.”

Her eyes drifted open, and she smiled at first then caught the worry in his eyes.

“The boys?” she guessed, flinging back the covers so fast Ethan had to rise and step away.

“Joshua is ill,” Ethan said, hearing the tremor in his voice. “A fever, aches, and his stomach is sore.”

“The bellyache might just be hunger,” Alice said, grabbing her nightgown then tightly belting her wrapper. “He’s been sleeping more lately, and I should have guessed he was coming down with something. It isn’t the season for flu. Did you look at his stomach to check for chicken pox?”

“I looked at his arms,” Ethan said, feeling a measure of relief. Alice wasn’t ringing for a maid; she was preparing to deal with this herself. “No spots on his arms.”

“They usually emerge on the belly first, but often not until the second day of illness.” Alice tied her hair back with a ribbon then turned to regard Ethan steadily. “Children get sick, Ethan. If I had a week off for every time Pris came down with something, I’d be on holiday until May Day. You can’t overreact.”

Ethan ran a hand through his hair. “Joshua has all the initial symptoms of typhoid.”

“If it is typhoid,” Alice said, wrapping her arms around his waist, “we have a long, hard battle ahead, but he’s a very healthy young fellow, Ethan, and we’ll give him the best of care.”

“Barbara had the best of care.” His arms went around Alice automatically, and he held her just as desperately as he had at any point in the previous night. “Barbara died. It took weeks, and she suffered terribly, and Joshua is just a small child.”

He buried his face against Alice’s neck, lest any more such sentiment unman him.

“Ethan,” she said, gently stroking his nape, “your son is small but vigorous, and he loves life. He loves you, his brother, and his pony. I daresay he even loves me a bit. He has much to live for, and we’re going to help him.”

He stepped back, though it was an effort.

“So sensible.” And he didn’t resent her for it; he treasured her all the more.

“Governesses pride themselves on being sensible. Now, off to the kitchen with you, Mr. Grey. Tell Mrs. Buxton what’s afoot, and let her know we’ll need willow-bark tea and feverfew for the fever and aches, a tisane of slippery elm for Joshua’s throat, some cold water to bring the fever down. Then take yourself to the library to find us some decent reading books. And, Ethan?”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob, relieved to have something constructive to do.

“He will be fine,” Alice said. “You must believe that, and you must reassure his brother of that.”

Just as Alice was reassuring him.

“Medicine for the boy, ma’am.” Davey offered Alice a cautious smile when he met her at the door to the boys’ room not ten minutes later. “Mr. Grey said you was to eat as well. There’s tea and toast.” Davey motioned to the tray as he set it on the table in the boys’ room. “Mr. Grey said I’m to remain in the hall in case the boys need anything, so mind you ring if there’s more you want. When Master Jeremiah wakes, I can set one of the other fellows to bide by the door, and take the boy to the stables to groom the ponies.”

“That will help. Watching one’s brother fall ill is no way for a boy to spend his day.”

Davey gave a little bow and withdrew, but Alice had been glad for his presence. A governess could be the loneliest of creatures, neither family nor quite one of the upper servants.

She realized, as she pulled a rocking chair up to Joshua’s bed, she felt a sort of belonging as a member of the household staff. She didn’t belong to the other servants, or they to her, but all of them belonged to Tydings. And she belonged to the master of Tydings, for as long as he would have her.

And a little bit—more than a little bit—she belonged to the boys who slept so soundly in their beds. They’d stolen and stormed into her heart, into the empty place left by Priscilla’s absence, and by the absence of any children of her own. She loved them for themselves, but loved them as well for being Ethan’s sons, the little boys who were towing a big quiet man from shadows to sunlight, one pony ride, one tickling session, and one impertinent question at a time.

Joshua Nicholas Grey was not going to die. Alice would not allow it. She’d let down her sister and knew the bitterness of long regrets. She was not going to let down Joshua or Jeremiah or Ethan.

Joshua continued to sleep, then awaken only to complain of his aches, sore throat, and fever. As uncomfortable as he was, Ethan knew the illness was likely to worsen at night. If it was typhoid, it could go on for weeks…

“Barbara’s illness started off the same,” Ethan said when Alice drew him across the hall into her room. He’d hovered near his son more and more closely as the day went along, first bringing his correspondence upstairs then abandoning any attempt at productivity. Jeremiah, at least, had gone out to the stables with Davey and groomed both ponies, then repaired to the hallway to beat Davey at Patience.

“Joshua does not have cramping of the bowels,” Alice reminded him. She’d probably made the same point a half dozen times earlier in the day. “Intestinal distress is a hallmark of typhoid.”

“I was tempted to send for Nick.” Ethan looped his arms around Alice’s waist and held her loosely, when what he wanted was to clutch her to him. “I thought about sending for him—Nick is the head of our family and travels easily and often—but I simply informed him Joshua was ill with fever and aches, a sore throat, and a tender stomach.”

“You want Nick here because this is the first real illness in your household since your wife died. That’s understandable, Ethan.”

He didn’t argue with her, but she didn’t have the whole truth, either. No one did now, save Ethan, and he should probably leave it that way. Probably, but what if Joshua didn’t recover?

He turned his thoughts from that hopeless outcome and extracted a promise from Alice to meet him in the garden for a walk before the light faded. She’d been in the sick room all day, and Ethan knew inactivity wasn’t in her nature.

He left the nursery, able to do so only because Alice was with him in a way he could not have anticipated. He’d desired her, despite her severe buns, thick glasses, and governessy primness, because some part of him must have sensed this other beauty hidden as effectively as Alice’s physical attractiveness.

Where she committed, Alice Portman stuck to her guns. She would no more leave Joshua’s care in the hands of the maids than she would cast Ethan aside because he was gruff, lacked polish with the fairer sex, and hogged pillows.

She belongs to us, Ethan assured himself as he searched out Mrs. Buxton and ordered two baths and a hot meal. Alice did not yet know it, but she belonged not just to Ethan but to his boys as well.

And if there were a merciful God, they would find a way to keep her.

He was prowling in the library for books—Joshua and Jeremiah loved their stories—when his eyes strayed across the notes Heathgate left him regarding Hart Collins. They were sitting in plain sight, which was no doubt foolish, so Ethan folded them up and stuffed them into his waistcoat pocket. Choosing a storybook proved challenging, for Ethan had no idea which the boys had read, so he stacked a half dozen under his arm and headed back to the third floor.

When he gained the nursery, Jeremiah was sitting on his tidily made bed, watching Joshua sleep.

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?” Jeremiah’s voice was steady, but when he drew in a breath, Ethan heard the worry filling him up. Ethan pulled up a rocking chair and lifted his firstborn onto his lap.

“From this?” Ethan glanced at Joshua too, and the hectic pink spots on his cheeks. “Anything is possible, but I don’t think so.”

“Mama had fevers. She died.”

“Right from the start of her illness, your mother had terrible trouble with her bowels, and Joshua hasn’t had any. He has, however, been sleeping like an old dog, which makes me think his illness is different.”

“I wanted the ponies to know what was going on. They would worry.”

“Ponies are like that.” Ethan hugged his son gently. “Governesses too, I think.”

Jeremiah snuggled closer to his father. “Miss Alice doesn’t act worried. You can tell if you look at her eyes, though. She doesn’t like Joshua being sick.”

“None of us do. If I don’t want her to get sick, I’d best see Miss Alice gets some fresh air.”

“I’ll stay with Joshua.” Jeremiah scrambled out of his father’s lap. “I’ll call Davey if Joshua wakes up. Don’t worry, Papa. I’ll look after him.”

Ethan left on Jeremiah’s childish assurance—there would be no moving the boy, in any case—and reasoning the sooner a papa left, the sooner he could return. He found Alice in her room, a shawl around her shoulders.

“It gets dark so much earlier,” she said, “and I can smell autumn in the air.”

“September has always felt melancholy to me,” Ethan said, tucking her hand over his arm. “Summer is over, the land is preparing to go dormant for winter, and darkness presses in.”

Then too, September was when the public schools began their academic year.

“My father used to hate it, because the boys went back to school in the fall,” Alice said as they made their way to the terrace. “I hated to see them go. The house always felt so much more alive with them around, but I liked the quiet, too.”

“So you could read your books,” Ethan guessed as they emerged onto the back terrace. “It is cool out, isn’t it?”

“Cool and beautiful. Look at the moonrise.”

A big fat yellow moon was drifting up through the trees, spreading its silvery light over the asters and chrysanthemums. “I’m glad we’re out here to see this.”

“You’re warm enough?”

“I’m fine.” Alice smiled, but even by moonlight, Ethan could see she was tired. He settled an arm around her shoulders as they walked and felt her arm steal around his waist. They eventually found the bench under the oak and watched as the moon rose over the gardens. Conversation wasn’t necessary, just the peaceful moonrise and Alice’s company.

As close as they’d been in her bed the previous night, Ethan felt just as close to her now.

“Shall we return to the house?” Ethan asked. “I’ve ordered you a bath too, but trays in the library for us first.”

“Food sounds good. Worrying is hungry work, and soon enough all the vegetables will be in the cold cellar.” They made the distance in companionable silence. Ethan held the door for Alice then touched her arm.

“Let me have your shawl.” He drew it from her shoulders and folded it before handing it back to her, and the expression on Alice’s face gave him pause.

A small thing, to fold a lady’s shawl for her. Some might say presumptuous; others might say husbandly. All that mattered was what Alice would say. “What?”

“Nothing.” Alice tucked the shawl over her arm. “To the library?”

“For sustenance, though I want to go bounding up those stairs and stare Joshua back to health.”

“Come eat, Mr. Grey, or the food won’t be hot.”

He was storing up a treasure house of her various Mr. Greys: stern, affectionate, reassuring, passionate…

Ethan let her draw him into the library, where a tea cart was crowded with dishes. The ambrosial scents of roasted beef and fresh bread wafted up from steaming trays. He stared at his plate when they took places side by side on the couch. “I can’t eat all of this.”

“You can.” Alice flipped her serviette onto her lap. “You skipped lunch and tea, and you are a substantial fellow who needs his sustenance. If you fall over in a swoon, I won’t be able to catch you. Salt?”

“Please.” Ethan unfolded his napkin and began cutting his roast of beef. “Good Lord, this smells delicious. Will you marry me?”

“Of course not.” Alice smiled at her plate. “You’re out of your head with hunger, fatigue, and worry. I could use that salt when you’re done with it.”

Ethan stuffed a bite of meat into his mouth, utterly flummoxed at the question that had come from his lips. Where on earth—where in heaven or on earth—had those words come from? He’d meant them, of course, but thank God Alice had taken them as teasing.

They consumed good beef, green beans, fresh bread, pears, and cheese, limiting their discussion to the meal.

“More salt?”

“Excellent roast.”

“This cheese goes well with the fruit.”

One remark after another, each reassuring Ethan that his proposal had indeed been taken in jest. No harm done. To Alice, at least. He chewed mechanically, wondering if it was better to be rejected as only proposing in jest, or to be rejected because he’d meant each word with his whole heart.

When they finished their meal, Ethan chased Alice off to soak in a hot bath. She went without protest, perhaps sensing Ethan wanted some time with his sons. When she rejoined Ethan in the nursery, Jeremiah slept, and Joshua dozed in Ethan’s arms.

“I wanted to hate him when he was born,” Ethan said. Alice settled near him on the end of Joshua’s bed as he spoke. “He was the ultimate symbol of my failure as a husband, as a man. And yet…” Ethan gazed down at his son. “One day, he smiled at me and grabbed for my nose. Jeremiah wanted to hold him, and the nursery maids wouldn’t countenance such a thing. I held Jeremiah with one arm and the baby with the other, and I was… lost.”

“You’re not lost now. Not you, not Joshua, not Jeremiah. You’ve found each other.”

“We have. I don’t intend to lose either one of my sons.”

Alice gave a fierce little nod. “That’s the spirit.”

“But I nearly did, Alice.” Ethan started rocking slowly. “I convinced myself my children were red-faced, squalling, malodorous, ceaselessly needy little beasts. How could I have been so wrong?”

“You weren’t wrong. You’ve described the average baby, though you left out the part about how irresistibly lovable they are.”

“Irresistibly,” Ethan agreed, kissing Joshua’s forehead. “He’s still hot.”

Alice reached out and laid the back of her hand on Joshua’s forehead.

“No hotter than he was this morning. I think he’ll be fine, Ethan, though I’ve never seen this illness in another child.”

“Nor have I, and my siblings were forever coming down with this or that ailment. We lost two babies, further down the line from Nick and me.”

“A large family seldom sees all the children survive to adulthood. My mother was fortunate all four of us did.”

Ethan cuddled his son a little closer. “One marvels such a slight person should create so much noise for the sheer hell of it.”

“He does it in part to keep Jeremiah from growing up too fast.”

“That one.” Ethan’s gaze traveled to where his older son slept on his side. “He reminds me of myself now, while Joshua reminds me of myself as a child.”

“Quite a contrast. It’s hard to imagine you as devil-may-care as Joshua, but time changes us.”

“Some of us. You’re exhausted, Alice. Why don’t you lie down across the hall, and I’ll rouse you if Joshua should worsen?”

Alice rose tiredly. “I’m going to set a good example for you. I’m going to get some rest because I most assuredly do need it.” She leaned down to brush a finger down Joshua’s cheek then bent to kiss the top of Ethan’s head. “Wake me when you need a break, Ethan, and no heroics. Jeremiah will explode with worry if you fall ill.”

Ethan let her go, though just the one little whiff of her lemony scent brought peace to his soul. Alice turned to leave, pausing to pull the covers up over Jeremiah and tuck them in around him more snugly.

I love her. For those little maternal gestures and how naturally they come to her with these children, I love her.

Alice opened the door then stepped back abruptly. “Nicholas?”

One didn’t mistake Nick Haddonfield’s presence, and there he was in the corridor, looking large, windblown, and worried. Alice stepped back to let him into the nursery.

“Ethan sent a pigeon, and the roads were dry, and I don’t suppose…” Nick peered past Alice to where Ethan cradled Joshua in the rocking chair. “Is Joshua all right?”

“Nicholas.” Ethan rose, Joshua sleeping in his arms, and surveyed his brother. “You traveled all this way because my son is ill?”

“He’s going to recover, isn’t he?” Nick’s gaze traveled from his brother to his nephew. “He looks fevered.”

Alice tried to fathom the currents swirling between the two brothers, because Nick wasn’t just worried about the boy.

“Joshua started a fever last night. I can’t believe you came.”

“I’ll leave in the morning,” Nick said. “I know I’m not invited, but I was worried, and I also know what a sick child can mean to a parent’s peace of mind…”

Ethan shifted his son and extended a hand to his brother. “I am glad you’re here. I am really, honestly glad you’re here.” The words sounded heartfelt. As Alice watched, Nick’s features smoothed.

He’d been uncertain of his reception. The Earl of Bellefonte had been prepared to be politely rebuffed by his own brother—or perhaps, not so politely.

“He’s sleeping very soundly,” Nick observed. “Has he been bled?”

“I’ll not have it,” Ethan replied, laying Joshua in his bed and drawing up the covers. “He’s weak as it is, and bleeding never did anybody I know of any good.”

“I see.” Nick looked uncomfortable again.

“You don’t agree?” And now Ethan sounded wary too. Jeremiah stirred in his sleep, while Alice didn’t want to leave Ethan and Nick alone.

“I brought a physician with me, Ethan, and please hear me out.”

Ethan straightened the covers around Joshua and brushed a hand over the child’s forehead. “I’m listening.”

“Fairly doesn’t like bleeding either,” Nick said, “and he’s a member of the Royal College, but he also apprenticed to a ship’s doctor. He’s not just an old windbag spouting Latin and carrying around a jar of leeches.”

“I should hope not. Is this the fellow I met at Papa’s funeral?” Still, Ethan regarded his ailing child.

“You did, but my manners are remiss. Alice, a pleasure to see you, though you look exhausted.”

“She is,” Ethan rejoined, holding out a hand to Alice. She crossed the room at this gesture of invitation then nearly stumbled when Ethan captured her hand and drew her against his side. “I’ve kept her up to this ungodly hour because she is in charge of Joshua’s care, and my gratitude to our Alice is without limit.”

Our Alice. She hoped it meant his, Joshua’s, and Jeremiah’s, and maybe even a little bit Nicholas’s too.

Nick grinned at her. “Didn’t take you long to have him eating out of your hand. Let me fetch Viscount Fairly. He’ll want to talk to Alice before ordering her off to bed.”

Nick was back in a moment, bringing with him a tall blond man whose looks Alice would describe as beautiful but unsettling. In the dim light, it took her several minutes to discern that his eyes were two different colors, one blue and one green. Those eyes bore a light of kindness, though, and she was profoundly grateful to Nick for bringing some real medical expertise to the situation.

“Your patient,” Alice began, “is five going on six and answers to Joshua Nicholas Grey. He is as rambunctious as the day is long, and generally quite, quite sturdy. About a week ago, we noticed his energy flagging, and he began taking afternoon naps and coming down late for breakfast. Last night, an hour or so before dawn, his brother, Jeremiah, found him fevered.”

“Other symptoms?” the physician asked.

“Body aches, particularly in his neck, tummy, and upper arms, and this great fatigue. His throat is sore, but it doesn’t seem severely painful. His appetite is off, though his bowels do not pain him. He drinks all the vile potions we force on him then goes back to sleep. He’s just… ill.”

“I don’t want to talk out of turn,” Fairly said, “but given the symptoms you’ve listed, I can bet it isn’t typhoid, malaria, or cholera, neither does it smack of lung fever. We might have some version of influenza here, but I’d like to examine the child, if you don’t mind waking him.”

“I’m up.” Joshua struggled to sit up in his bed. “Is that Uncle Nick?”

“I’m up, too,” Jeremiah chorused. “Joshua, do you have to pee?”

“In private,” Joshua intoned truculently, glancing at the four adults in his bedroom.

“You can use my room,” Alice said. “I’ll have some food and drink put together for our guests.” She slipped from the room, hoping that between the physician and the little boys, neither Ethan nor Nick would do or say anything untoward.

Despite Joshua’s illness, despite the lateness of the hour and the relative crowd in the children’s room, Ethan watched Alice go.

Nick’s smile as Ethan’s gaze collided with his was sweet and knowing.

Well, what of it?

When the boys returned, Nick excused himself as well, muttering something about seeing how Alice fared in the kitchen.

Joshua peered at his father before climbing back into bed. “Are you leaving, Papa?”

“Good heavens,” the physician said, “he can’t leave, because then we’d have no one to make the introductions, and wouldn’t that be awkward?”

Joshua smiled tentatively at that sally, while Jeremiah’s expression was unconvinced.

“Viscount Fairly,” Ethan began, “may I make known to you my sons, Master Jeremiah Nicholas Grey, and your patient, Master Joshua Nicholas Grey. Boys, his lordship is a physician who was good enough to come here with Uncle Nick.”

Jeremiah took his father’s hand and aimed a worried look upward. “You won’t let him bleed Joshua?”

“I will not,” Ethan said. “No matter how Joshua begs and pleads and longs for a truly impressive scar. Now back into bed, both of you.”

“Yes, Papa.” Joshua’s voice conveyed fatigue, even in two little words.

The physician sat on the child’s bed. “Joshua, I must have your assistance if we’re to find an answer to what’s plaguing you. Will you give me your hand?”

Joshua complied and was taught how to feel a pulse by holding two middle fingers against Lord Fairly’s wrist. They compared pulses and tongues and heartbeats and breathing sounds, aches, and pains until Joshua was yawning again. All the while, Fairly had plied the child with questions, probed gently for soreness and swelling, and conducted a far more thorough examination than the interrogation-and-prescribing Ethan had usually seen pass for medical science.

“You’re tired now?” Fairly asked Joshua.

“Beat. I can’t stay up at all.”

“Then go back to sleep. You’ve been very patient with me, but I think you’re wise to be sleeping so much, Joshua.”

Joshua flopped down onto his bed. “I’m just tired.”

“You’re smart,” Fairly countered, pulling the covers up over the boy. “The more you sleep, the sooner you’ll heal, so sleep to your heart’s content.”

“G’night, Papa.” Joshua cracked his jaw and closed his eyes. “G’night, Doctor.”

“Good night, Son.” Ethan pressed a kiss to Joshua’s brow. “Sweet dreams. And you”—Ethan turned to spear Jeremiah with a look—“your brother is going to be fine, but he needs rest, so no keeping him up with your usual ruckus.”

“I don’t make a ruckus,” Jeremiah protested, but he was smiling bashfully. “Unless Joshua makes one with me.”

“Like the time you climbed down the tree in the middle of the night,” Ethan reminded him, “and tried to take your ponies for a romp when there was no moon at all. Dream of that, why don’t you?”

“Good night, Papa.” Jeremiah turned to his side, probably the better to keep an eye on his brother. “And good night, Lord Fairly.”

Ethan led the physician from the room, closed the door quietly, and rounded on him. “You’re sure of that? Sure Joshua just needs to rest?”

“As sure as a physician can be,” Fairly said, “which is short of certain but well past maybe.”

Relief coursed through Ethan, leaving a light, exhausted feeling and a need to see Alice and share the news with her. “Let’s go downstairs. Alice will have put together something to eat, and I don’t trust Nick not to be bothering her.”

“Bothering her? I understood your brother to be devoted to his countess.”

“He is, but he’s Nick, and he and Alice are friends of some sort, and those whom he cares for, Nick must bother, particularly the females.”

“I see.” Clearly, Fairly didn’t see, but he was too polite to comment further. Polite or exhausted.

“You must have ridden like demons,” Ethan said as they neared the kitchen.

“Nick lit out as soon as your pigeon landed. I live west of him, so I was on his way. Letty said I must come, because she would not fare well were illness to befall Danny or Elizabeth, and Nick would never ask if it weren’t important to him.”

“I gather Danny and Elizabeth are your children, and Letty your viscountess.”

“My wife. My goodness.” Fairly came to a halt before the tray Alice had sitting on the kitchen counter. “I had better be hungry.”

“No,” Alice said, “you had better be fast, or Nick will eat all of this before you can finish a proper grace. How is Joshua?”

“He’s a very interesting case study,” Fairly replied. “He will be fine, in my opinion, but he’s likely to be tired for weeks yet, if not months.”

Nick looked up from where he was slicing cheese at the long wooden counter. “Glandular fever? I didn’t know it afflicted children.”

“It isn’t supposed to,” Fairly said. “We know it as a young person’s disease, and being young people, those who fall ill try to bounce back too quickly and end up right back in bed. It will be interesting to see how Joshua recovers, but by all means, encourage him to rest at every opportunity.”

“We can do that,” Alice said, her gaze glancing off Ethan’s.

“And we can feed our guests,” Ethan said, “if you’ll stop slicing that entire wheel of cheese, Nicholas, and put that knife to use on the beef roast.”

“I’ve put on a pot of tea,” Alice said, “but I’m thinking you gentleman might want something stronger.”

Nick beamed his approval. “Excellent thought, lamby-pie. My tender parts were in the saddle too long, and I am in need of something medicinal.”

“You are in need of a spanking,” Alice said, “as usual. Ethan, if you will fetch some brandy, I will find us some plates.”

Lord Fairly and Nick exchanged bemused smiles as Ethan meekly left to do his governess’s bidding.

Ethan hadn’t meant to bother Alice, but the silky curve of her bottom snuggled against his groin bore predictable results. He was half-asleep when he realized he was already shifting his hips lazily against her, seeking entrance, seeking the comfort and joy of intimate union with her. He gathered Alice in his arms and adjusted the angle of her hips, nuzzling her sex with his cock even as he buried his lips against her neck.

It was relaxing in a way he hadn’t experienced before, to join like this, letting arousal seep into all the tired and worried parts of him. He tried to find the same pleasure for Alice, stroking her back and arm and shoulders and hips with his hand, keeping his rhythm lazy and peaceful. After long, sweet minutes of that, she put his hand on her breast and began to shift with him.

“Easy,” Ethan whispered. “Let it steal up on you, like sleep.” Her grip on his hand loosened, her hips became less urgent, and she brought his hand to her mouth to kiss his palm. A few minutes later, Ethan felt her sex drawing on him in long, intensely pleasurable pulls. When he was sure she’d had her satisfaction of him, he let himself go in a similarly gratifying yet oddly peaceful orgasm.

He lay with her in his arms, gratitude nearly making him weep. Alice tucked his hand around her breast and squeezed his fingers gently. Hold me.

He’d like nothing better, for the rest of his life. He untangled his fingers from hers and patted her behind gently.

“I’ll be right back.”

As he tended to their ablutions, Ethan considered what lay between him and taking Alice as his wife. It was true he was illegitimate, but he was also the son of an earl, and wealthy. The stigma of his bastardy hardly seemed to matter, at least to those whose opinion mattered to him.

It was also true, though, Alice didn’t entirely trust him. He’d offered to listen to whatever scandal haunted her past, and she had declined to tell him. Scandals that sent a woman hundreds of miles from home, drove her from her only sister, and made her seek obscurity for the rest of her days were serious business. Ethan sensed without being told Alice would not marry anybody without confiding the details of her past. She would be honest both to assure herself her prospective spouse could weather the consequences, but also to give that man the last chance to betray her trust.

Ethan would not betray her trust. She could have ten children out of wedlock or have attempted to assassinate Wellington, and he would not betray her trust. Barbara had betrayed his trust as intimately and permanently as a wife could, and still, Ethan had understood, eventually, what she’d done and why.

He was already back in bed, arms around his prize, when he realized, in the twilight between sleeping and waking, the greatest barrier between him and a future with Alice was his trust of her.

Before he proposed in earnest—again in earnest—he’d have to tell her exactly what went on with Hart Collins all those years ago. Heathgate’s lectures to the contrary, reality to the contrary, Ethan still felt in his weaker moments responsible for what had happened to him and shamed by it. He should have been more careful; he should have never antagonized such a petty bully; he should have fought all six of them off.

He should have killed himself rather than live with the shame of surviving.

Old, hopeless thoughts, but they were losing their power over him. He breathed in lemon verbena and hope, and let sleep claim him.

At breakfast, Fairly had confirmed a diagnosis consistent with a version of glandular fever, and prescribed unlimited rest and comfort nursing. Jeremiah had towed Alice out to the stables to tell the ponies this good news, leaving Ethan to regard his brother.

The brother whom he had never been so glad to see as he had the previous night.

“Come with me, Nicholas. There are some things I want to show you, and I think I left them in the corner parlor.”

Still munching on a piece of buttered toast, Nick ambled along at Ethan’s side. “When are you going to marry Alice?”

“When she’ll have me,” Ethan said. “One doesn’t want a woman to get notions about repairing to the North because her employer can’t stop proposing to her.”

“Have you tried proposing to her? I don’t think many have.”

“Have you?” The question was out of Ethan’s mouth before he could stop it, and he really did not want to know the answer.

“I have not. She’s far too managing for me, meaning no disrespect to my countess, who had to sneak up on me from behind, so to speak. I would not have married Leah, either, had I been of sound mind.”

“Let’s be grateful she did sneak up on you.” Ethan opened the door, went to the middle of a small parlor finished in green décor and slightly musty with disuse, and swung his gaze in a circle. “I want you to have these.” He collected the miniatures from a quarter shelf and held them out to Nick, but Nick’s attention was riveted on the portrait hanging over the fireplace.

Nick cocked his head to study the portrait. “Is this your late wife? She was very attractive, but I have to admit she looks more than passingly familiar.”

Seeing the shrewd light of curiosity in Nick’s eyes, the strength of the intelligence with which he studied Barbara’s portrait, Ethan felt despair flooding all the relief and pleasure the day—the season, his life—had held.

How could he have been so stupid? He’d kept that portrait for his sons, and to remind himself of his own folly, but he’d come haring up here, intent only on giving Nick some symbol of his unconditional welcome into Ethan’s family.

And one brief moment of thoughtlessness was going to cost him most of what mattered to him—Nick, their siblings at Belle Maison, and possibly the son who even now battled to overcome a frightening illness.

How could he have been so damnably, utterly, unforgivably stupid?