“This is unbearable. I can’t look after myself anymore.”
“You just need a little help. That is all.”
At her words, Dorothy was very aware of Stephen staring at her, but she didn’t ask what his look meant.
She drew him into the drawing room, where everyone gushed, asking how he was faring this morning.
“Well, at least you have more color in you today.” Lord Webster clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly, in danger of knocking him over in his dizzy state.
Dorothy led Stephen to his chair and helped him sit down.
“Color?” Lady Webster and Lady Sandmarsh said together in surprise.
“Poor fellow is as white as a sheet.” Lord Sandmarsh tutted, shaking his head. “How did you say you came to fall in the water, Your Grace?”
Dorothy sat beside Stephen, all too aware of him glancing her way. She parted her lips to say it was her fault, but Stephen slyly touched her elbow under the table. It was such a soft touch, it startled her, and her lips clammed shut.
“My own fault. I was startled by one of the dogs when I stood on a rock in the river,” Stephen explained.
“You should take more care, Your Grace,” Lord Chilmond said hurriedly. “Everyone has been most worried about you.”
As Lady Charlotte and Lady Frederica nodded in agreement, Dorothy busied herself preparing Stephen’s coffee. She made it just as he liked it—a splash of milk, no more, and without sugar. She thrust the cup toward him, and he took it, peering down at the liquid.
“Did you see anything of what happened?” Lady Charlotte asked the other men with interest.
“First we heard Lady Dorothy shrieking for us,” Lord Webster began, snorting, and then recounted what had happened for what had to be the third time already.
Dorothy winced at the wordshriekingand reached for the bread on the table. She spread fresh honey over it, as she knew Stephen liked it, and put that on his plate.
“Dorothy,” he whispered, under the cover of other people’s chatter. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?” She reached for the eggs next. He usually had a boiled egg in the morning, so she added that to an egg cup and placed it on his plate, too.
“It’s just…” he trailed off as the chatter around them grew louder.
“None of us shot anything in the end.” Lord Chilmond laughed raucously. “Though I hear from some of your stable hands, My Lord, that something rare can be seen in these parts, indeed.”
Dorothy added more things to Stephen’s plate until he caught her elbow softly under the table again.
“You are feeding me up,” he whispered.
“I know.” She shrugged.
“Since when have you taken notice of what I eat and drink, Dorothy?”
“I…” She paused, swallowing uncomfortably.
Suddenly, she realized that she knew everything about Stephen’s eating habits. She had learned them over the years. She knew lamb was his favorite for a roast dinner, and the dessert he’d never refuse was treacle tart. She didn’t answer him but started to add things to her own plate.
“Rare? What is that, My Lord?” Lady Webster asked Lord Chilmond, and Dorothy returned her attention to their conversation.
“A white stag. Is it true?”
Dorothy stiffened. She and Stephen exchanged a look, but neither of them said anything.
“What a kill that would make on your wall!” Lord Chilmond laughed. “Have you ever seen it?”
“I have not.” Lord Webster shook his head. “Between you and me, I am beginning to think it is just a tale the stable hands made up.”
