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.”
