Courting Miss Lancaster (12 page)

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lancaster.” Mr. Rigby abruptly dove into the expected exit dialogue. With a bow from the waist, he expressed his hope that they would meet again and, after a nervous glance at Adam, made a very hasty retreat.

“Coward,” Adam muttered under his breath.

“After the rumors I have heard this evening regarding your encounter with Sir Hubert,” Persephone said, “I am surprised Mr. Rigby had the fortitude to approach our party at all.”

“Fortitude?”
Adam scoffed. “Idiocy, more like.”

They continued conversing, their voices growing quieter as the subject matter veered into topics they alone were interested in. Athena was grateful for the drop in volume. She dabbed with one gloved finger at her forehead, hoping to stop the beads of sweat forming there from trickling down her overheated face. She could no longer concentrate on anything beyond the need to remain upright and not simply lie down on the floor as she was tempted to do. There was no doubt in her mind that she was feverish.

Where is Harry?
she wondered, searching the room with her eyes. He would see that she was ill and save her the difficulty of attempting to explain as much to Persephone. Athena felt entirely incapable of any degree of conversation. But Harry would understand. He always did. He sensed her feelings and struggles before anyone else. Indeed, she could not remember a friend who had understood her to the degree he did.

“Your lemonade.”

She had not even heard him approach. Much of the ballroom, as a matter of fact, had receded into an unrecognizable blur. Athena looked up in the direction of Harry’s voice. “I . . . do not . . . feel well,” she managed.

Words garbled all around her, though she could not make sense of any of them. Athena felt an arm wrap securely around her waist as she was assisted to her feet. She knew, on some instinctive level, that it was Harry and felt comforted despite the increasing weight of illness. He would not abandon her. He had listened to her frustrations and struggles from almost the moment they had first met. He had laughed with her, sat beside her when she was lonely.

Athena registered the smell of horses and knew she had been led outside and was being assisted into the carriage. Harry had not left her side, and knowing he would see to her welfare, Athena allowed herself to slip into a dreamless and restless sleep.

Chapter 13

“How is she?” Harry asked the moment he encountered Persephone on the stairs as he made his way toward the Falstone House drawing room.

He had done little but worry about Athena since carrying her up those same stairs the night before. Athena had leaned heavily against him, heat emanating from her as her fever began to rise. Leaving her there so obviously ill had been painful.

Harry had repeatedly told himself that Persephone would take care of her sister. But he couldn’t help wishing he had the right to remain beside her, to see to her welfare himself. Harry was left to content himself with depending on the power of sincere and repeated prayers. What Persephone could not do, the heavens most certainly could.

“The fever continues.” Persephone sighed. Harry’s eyes were riveted to her. It was not what he wanted to hear. “The doctor assures us, however, that she is not in any danger.”

“He is certain?” Harry pressed, his fears not alleviated. “He knows what he’s about? You didn’t consult one of those imbeciles who ripped Adam’s face to shreds, did you?”

“Would Adam have permitted any of those men into his house, Harry?” Persephone gave him a look clearly commiserating his lack of intelligence, though softened by the hint of a smile that tugged at her mouth.

“Perhaps he wished to draw and quarter them,” Harry suggested with a chuckle. “Although I do believe surgeons are not in season just now.”

“No,” Persephone smiled back, “insulting baronets are the current prey.” Her humor seemed less forced than Harry would have expected, suggesting she was beginning to recover from the insults Sir Hubert had heaped upon her.

“About time you made an appearance, you maw worm.” Adam’s growl joined the conversation as he approached the landing where Harry and Persephone had paused to continue their conversation.

Adam looked thoroughly annoyed, and he was flinging insulting epithets. If Athena’s situation had truly been dire, Adam would not have expended unnecessary effort on either. Adam was extremely focused when circumstances warranted it. Being referred to as an intestinal parasite was, actually, relieving.

“I am assuming those weeds are for Athena,” Adam said, pointedly eyeing the bouquet of violets Harry had almost forgotten he was holding.

“Of course,” Harry answered. “Ladies always like receiving weeds.”

“Well, take them up to her, imbecile,” Adam directed. “Convince the girl you haven’t dropped off the face of the earth so she’ll quit asking for you every five minutes.” Adam looked aggravated enough for the statement to be true.

“She’s asked for me?” Harry hoped his eagerness wasn’t apparent to the others.

“In her more lucid moments,” Persephone confirmed. “I confess, I hoped you would come, if only to set her mind at ease so she can rest.”

“I can see her, then?” Harry asked.

“Adam and I will be there, so there will be no question of impropriety,” Persephone assured him and motioned for him to follow her up another flight of stairs. “You are practically brother and sister, after all,” she added over her shoulder.

Harry smiled back but inwardly grimaced. Brother and sister? Was that how Athena saw him as well? That was a rather depressing thought. Sure, he could never be a true suitor or husband. But to be viewed in the light of a sibling! That was all well and good with Jane—who was
actually
his sister—but not with Athena.

He felt unaccountably nervous entering Athena’s room. Had she really been asking for him? Why? How ill was she? Was she still feverish? Was she truly out of danger, or was the doctor mistaken?

Athena’s bedchamber was filled with bouquets. Word of her illness had, apparently, spread. Harry could identify the sender of each flower arrangement without needing to look at the cards attached. He glanced at each as he walked past.

The overblown arrangement too ornate to be truly tasteful would be from Peterbrook—it was intended to impress with little consideration for the preferences of the recipient.

The small posy that was indistinguishable from every other posy Harry had ever seen would be from Mr. Handley. His good manners would require he send an offering. Handley’s mother would insist it be insignificant.

Harry chuckled as he passed a vase filled with small cuttings from several types of native trees. Mr. Howard. Having Adam reject his written request to court Athena had, apparently, not prevented Mr. Howard from continuing the acquaintance. That showed more backbone than Harry would have expected.

The yellow roses were most likely from Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Hartley. The duchess’s immense adoration of yellow roses was well-known in the
ton
.

Harry paused his progress when he couldn’t immediately place the very impressive and tasteful arrangement set on a table near Athena’s bed. A closer look revealed the signature on the card. “G. Rigby.”

Rigby?
Harry had heard Rigby was under the hatches—it had been the reason he’d been reluctant to introduce the man to Athena the night before. He was not at all ready to broach the topic of the unsuitability of men in need of a wealthy wife. So where, Harry silently demanded, had Rigby found the money for orchids and irises and tulips from a hothouse?

Harry glanced disparagingly at the handful of violets he carried. He’d bought them for a penny from the corner flower girl, as always. No wonder Adam had thought they were weeds. The violets were comparatively pitiful, but Harry hadn’t the means for expensive flowers. He barely had the means for a respectable appearance and the one or two meals a day he was obligated to provide for himself.

“Harry?”

The voice was so quiet that Harry’s heart ached to hear it. He turned toward the bed and let his gaze fall on Athena. She was far too pale, and her eyes were still a bit unfocused, but she was smiling, almost. Trying to keep his expression from betraying the depth of his feelings for Athena, Harry moved to her bedside.

“You see, Adam didn’t kill him after all,” Persephone said from somewhere behind Harry.

Athena’s smile grew ever so slightly. Harry loved to see her smile, even when the effort was so obviously marred by exhaustion and illness.

“He has threatened to do me in countless times,” Harry acknowledged, though he addressed Athena, “but,” he leaned in slightly, shifting his voice to an exaggerated whisper as if he was sharing a very great secret, “he actually is quite embarrassingly fond of me.”

“Idiot,” Harry heard Adam grumble. Just as Persephone had indicated, she and Adam were present in the room as propriety demanded.

“You see, he even uses endearments when speaking of me,” Harry added with what he was certain was a mischievous grin.

“Give the girl your pathetic bouquet and get this over with,” Adam commanded. Harry glanced quickly over his shoulder at Adam sitting in a chair looking thoroughly annoyed. Part of him wanted to believe the “pathetic” descriptor was more a reflection of Adam’s mood than of Harry’s offering. Though he knew it was hardly impressive, the posy was all he could manage.

“Did you bring me flowers, Harry?” Athena asked. She didn’t sound surprised, which was good, nor did she sound displeased, which was even better.

“I brought you a pathetic handful of weeds,” Harry corrected with a chuckle. He held the humble flowers up where she could see them, bracing himself for her look of disappointment.

She looked . . . confused. “Those aren’t weeds,” she said, brow a little furrowed. “They are violets.”

“Yes, but Adam did not know that.” Again he employed his secret-sharing tone. “And I have found it is best not to point out to the Dastardly Duke when he is wrong about something.”

“Even when that Dastardly Duke affectionately calls you an idiot?” Athena answered, her tone teasing but her voice weak and her face growing paler.

“Especially then,” Harry answered, trying to keep his expression light despite his concern. He reminded himself that an adoptive brother of sorts would not be more concerned than an actual sister or a brother-in-law. He needed to keep his reactions on equal footing with Adam’s and Persephone’s.

“I like violets,” Athena said, her words a little slow.

“I thought you might,” Harry answered, lowering his voice as he watched her lying there, all but disappearing into the pillow beneath her head. She was far too pale. He resisted the urge to smooth the hair away from her face, to touch her cheek, to see for himself if her fever was, indeed, under control.

“I was hoping you would come by,” Athena said quietly.

“And why is that?” Did his casual tone sound forced? Harry tried to appear perfectly at ease as he sat in a chair beside her bed.

“Mr. Howard sent me a bouquet,” she answered, the slightest twinkle apparent in her tired eyes.

Harry smiled. “I thought I spotted one that had to be from him.”

Athena managed a slight smile in return. “He is convinced I think of nothing but trees.”

“Mr. Howard does not have the most original mind,” Harry acknowledged, but not unkindly. He set Athena’s violets on the table beside her bed but found he had to clasp his hands together to keep himself from holding her hand.

“Mr. Dalforth warned me to be wary of the gentlemen you introduce me to,” Athena said.

Tension slid instantly through Harry’s body, his jaw tight. “Did he?” Harry managed. “And why is that, do you suppose?” Again, his casual tone rang a little untrue to his ears.

“I think he was teasing me,” Athena answered. Her eyes were slowly opening and closing, as if the effort required to simply blink was proving too much for her. “Because so many of the gentlemen you have presented have been disasters.”

Harry sat silently for a moment. How did he respond to that observation without admitting to more than he wanted her to know?
Yes, as a matter of fact, I have purposefully introduced you to the most ridiculous gentlemen I could think of. I hope you don’t mind the fact that I have sabotaged your Season.
Somehow he didn’t think she would appreciate that explanation.

“They all sent you flowers, though,” Harry finally settled on. “So, not entirely disastrous.”

“But none of them knew I liked violets,” Athena answered, smiling wearily. “Not even Mr. Dalforth knew that.”

Harry managed not to smile smugly. He hadn’t seen any flowers from Dalforth. The thought was surprisingly satisfying. “He didn’t even send you any tree branches?” Harry chuckled, feeling his spirits improving.

Athena’s smile grew, and Harry couldn’t help his own grin. “Or weeds,” she added. Her laugh ended in a cough. Without thought Harry took hold of her hand, lightly squeezing her fingers until the coughing subsided. “His roses were good enough, I suppose.”

Her continued attempts at humor were reassuring and very endearing. A lady who could laugh despite illness was a woman after his own heart. The moment of sentiment did not last longer than it took his mind to process what Athena had said. Dalforth
had
sent flowers. Roses, in fact.

The yellow roses. They were not, then, from the Duke and Duchess of Hartley, as he had assumed. It was a very impressive bouquet. So, he had been shown up by both Rigby and Dalforth. It was his own fault, really. He would have done better not to bring any flowers than to show up with the raggedy, pathetic handful he’d brought.

There were times when being comparatively poor was humiliating. He’d learned young to laugh it off, to joke instead of showing his embarrassment. “I suppose roses will do in a pinch.” Harry shrugged, managing to keep his smile in place. “But the way to any lady’s heart is weeds. Nothing else will do.” He pulled a single sprig of violets from the small bouquet on the table and, letting go of her hand, placed the violets there instead, gently closing her fingers around the flowers.

“I do like violets,” Athena said, raising the sprig slowly to her nose and closing her eyes as she breathed in the aroma. Harry was certain he heard a little sigh of disappointment. “I cannot smell a thing,” she whispered with a tiny ironic laugh.

Harry leaned closer, until he was near enough to whisper almost into her ear. “They smell like spring in the midst of winter and like hope when life is bleak.”

Athena opened her eyes and looked directly at him. Harry had never known another person with eyes as brilliantly green as hers—even in illness, the color was startling. “I think you like violets as well,” she whispered.

“I love violets,” Harry answered, his eyes locked with hers. His lungs instantly tightened, his heart beating a touch harder. He had never been so close to her before. Even carrying her up the stairs the night before, there had been more distance. The slightest movement forward would eliminate what little space separated them. And in their current relative positions, they would meet lip to lip.

Not a very brotherly thought.

Harry moved stiffly, forcibly back. He leaned against the back of his chair, creating the maximum distance without actually leaving his seat. Leaving would be necessary, he realized. But doing so in a panic would be far too telling for his comfort.

“Violets are lovely.” Athena said the three words so slowly they sounded very much like three separate sentences. Her eyelids slid closed with a heaviness that indicated she was already asleep.

Harry let out a tense breath. He was playing a dangerous game, and he knew it. He struggled more with each encounter to keep his feelings for Athena a secret. Nothing could be gained by giving himself away, but he would lose a great deal if he did. He and Adam had been as close as brothers since childhood, and losing that bond, to any degree, would be painful. He had come to care for Persephone very much the way he cared for his sister. But to be separated from Athena by the awkwardness and discomfort that his unrequited love would inevitably create would be unendurable.

“We should let her rest now.”

Harry nearly jumped at the sound of Persephone’s voice. He’d forgotten there was an audience.

He nodded his agreement and rose from his chair, casting one last look at Athena. She was still too pale, but she appeared to be resting easily. She would recover, he was certain of it.