Kenneth smiled. While the idea of being around Lady Sophia was not particularly welcome, he wanted Ruth to be happy and Ruth wanted nothing more than to reconcile with her sister. And besides –
“Well, Bronwyn. Now you have no excuse. You’ve carried on as though you were being abandoned and now you are invited to come along. What do you say?”
“What can I say? Come along, I shall. I will inform my parents at once.” He bowed before Ruth and Lady Sophia, kissing each of their hands before joining his parents who were presently seating themselves.
“We ought to sit as well,” Lady Sophia said and walked toward the table. Ruth looked up at Kenneth. “You do not mind my inviting her? And Lord Bronwyn? It is presumptuous of me, I apologize.”
He placed a hand on the small of her back when nobody was watching, letting it linger there for a little while.
“Of course not. I told you, anyone you’d like to invite is welcome and Jack is my dearest friend, so it is all the better.”
Ruth was about to seat herself next to Kenneth when the Duchess, standing at the head of the table, shot her an icy glare and she remembered.
She was to sit with her. With a sigh, she left Kenneth’s side and sat beside the Duchess who was at the head of the table, with Sophia seated to Ruth’s left.
The table was brimming with food. Delicious, sweet rolls sat beside trays of honey bread, plum cake, and freshly cooked jams. Butter, shaped into small flowers and stars, sat on silver trays and dainty finger sandwiches were piled artfully in the middle of the table.
When at last everyone was seated, the Duchess gave her a nod and picked up her tea, taking a sip. Over the rim, she watched Ruth pick up her own. As she took her first sip, she grimaced. The bitterness of the hot drink always took her by surprise.
“Would you assist me with some lumps of sugar for my tea,” she asked her sister who obliged with a frown but said nothing. Beside her, the Duchess chatted with Lady Caster, seated to her right, as if nothing at all were wrong and this was a perfectly normal evening.
She acts as though the family always gathers in such a manner, so united, so harmonious, when as of a couple of weeks ago, she’d have wished me the very worst.
It was this, their ongoing dislike of one another which sat in Ruth’s stomach like a rock and prevented her from enjoying the many delicious offerings on the table. Her stomach ached and, in the end, all she managed was her tea and a piece of plum cake.
“What is the matter?” Sophia asked, genuine concern in her voice. They were by no means as close as they’d been but after staying up most of the night and talking with one another, and again that afternoon, Ruth was sure they would eventually put their differences aside.
“Perhaps I ought not to have eaten a full plate at dinner,” Ruth whispered.
“Let us take the air,” her sister suggested.
“I cannot,” Ruth replied in a low voice. “I am to remain near Her Grace all night, she has requested it and I must show her I am more than capable of being a gracious hostess.” As she spoke, a cramp in her stomach forced her to bend over to keep from calling out in pain.
At once, Ruth rose. “Your Grace, I thank you for this wonderful tea, alas I feel a little unwell. Would you mind terribly if my sister and I took a turn around the garden before it is too dark?”
A flicker in the Duchess's eyes told of her upset at this, but she had no choice but to allow them their leave.
“Hasten back, lest your tea grows cold,” she called out after they departed.
They scarcely made it into the hall when Ruth bent over in pain.
“Ruthie, what is it? Shall I call for Papa? Or Lord Rotham? You look unwell.”
“No, please. Do not. I will recover just fine once I take the air. Please, no fuss.”
Sophia wrapped an arm around her sister’s waist and together, they made for the door. When the cool evening air enveloped Ruth, she did feel better. Alas, it lasted but a moment. She was not quite sure what the matter was, but her legs and arms weighed her down as she walked, feeling as though she were dragging boulders behind her.
“Do you have a fever?” Sophia asked with alarm and placed her hand on Ruth’s forehead.
“I do not know. I have not felt unwell all of this day, until now.” Sweat formed on her forehead and ran down the sides of her face.
“I must sit,” she gasped as Sophia dragged her onto a bench outside.
“Ruthie, I must call for help. You must get to bed and see a physician. This sudden onset alarms me greatly. Please.”
“I cannot worry them again. First, I cut myself on the patch box, then the spilled bottle at dinner, then I am pushed down the stairs and now I should take ill again. No.”
“But we cannot have you carry on like this. You look terrible,” Sophia insisted, worry tingeing her tone.
