Though Walter did not look entirely pleased by his words, he said, “Then maybe you ought to let bygones be bygones and move on.”
“Yes,” George said, straightening his back. “I think another drink is in order.”
Chapter 7
The knock on Cecelia's bedroom door that evening was not one she had expected. Having taken supper in her room, she had anticipated being left alone, at least until morning.
Exhaustion and disappointment were her only friends as she laid upon her bed, wondering what she was going to do about her father's final wish. There was very little she could truly do, not since Lord Cumberland had taken away her last hope.
Was the idea of chaperoning her truly so awful?
The question had plagued her all afternoon and well into the evening, and by the time the knock came, she was in no mood to speak with anybody.
“Leave me be, Mary!” she called from the bed, hoping that would be the end of it.
Yet, when the door clicked open, she groaned deeply. She ought to have pretended she was asleep. Maybe then she would have been left alone.
The sound of someone clearing their throat in the doorway made her sit up.
Upon seeing Mrs Rhodes, the housekeeper, she shuffled off the bed.
The woman's face was grave. It left Cecelia more than a little concerned.
“Is all well, Mrs Rhodes?”
“May I come in, My Lady?”
The tone of the woman's voice made Cecelia nod immediately.
She stood straight and adjusted her gown, wishing she had changed into her night things hours ago.
“Is something the matter?” Cecelia asked as the housekeeper entered with a curtsey.
“I'm afraid it is your mother, My Lady,” the housekeeper explained, and Cecelia's insides twisted. What had her mother sent the housekeeper to tell her now? Was she to go and plead with Lord Cumberland herself? Perhaps her mother had succeeded in finding her another chaperone.
The dowager countess never gave up once she had a bee in her bonnet.
“She has taken ill, My Lady,” Mrs Rhodes said, her head bowed low. “I took the liberty of calling for Doctor Danham.”
Bile rose in the back of Cecelia's throat. If a doctor had been called, it had to be serious.
“Why did you not come to me before?”
Mrs Rhodes' face flushed a little at that. “Your mother requested me not to, My Lady, but given the circumstances, I thought it best.”
Cecelia grabbed her shawl from where she had left it at the end of the bed. The evening had turned chilly, and she wrapped it tightly around her shoulders before she instructed, “Take me to her.”
Mrs Rhodes curtseyed silently before turning on her heels to escort Cecelia to her mother's room.
“How long ago did you call for the doctor?” Cecelia asked as they walked.
“A few hours ago,” Mrs Rhodes said, her hands clasped before her. The tension in the woman's shoulders told Cecelia everything she needed to know. This was serious.
“I expect he shall be here momentarily, My Lady,” the housekeeper continued as if she wished to reassure her.
As soon as they entered her mother's bedchamber, Cecelia wished to turn around and run.
The oppressive sense of something wrong was almost too much for her to bear.
