"Jeffers, my lady. I will also instruct Cook to make a light broth. It tends to work best at such times."
Another nod, distracted this time. "These matters." "Such times." Brahm's staff were used to this. They knew exactly what was going on and what to do. The racing of her heart eased somewhat.
Jeffers wasn't done with her yet. "And if I might be so bold, my lady, I will also have Cook make you some breakfast. You have a bit of a battle ahead of you, and you will want to keep your strength."
Eleanor raised her head. "Battle? Whatever do you mean?" This wasn't the worst of it?
The elderly man's expression was sympathetic. "I must be candid, my lady, though you may find it impertinent."
"Please, anything you can tell me will be most appreciated."
The butler nodded. "Very well. His Lordship will be…difficult for the next few days, and if you intend to help him through this ordeal, you may find it very tiring."
Eleanor stared at him. The next few days? She was going to have to suffer through this fear for
days
? Impossible!
"If there is nothing else you require, Lady Eleanor, I will send for Lord Wynthrope and Mr. North."
"Yes, yes, of course." She would be glad to have his brothers with her. They could tell her what to expect, whether she should fear for Brahm's life.
After Jeffers left her to take care of matters, Eleanor raced back upstairs to Brahm's room. He was as she had left him, quaking and perspiring in his bed.
Should she cover him with another quilt? He seemed cold, his skin clammy to the touch, but he was sweating as though he was far too warm. Was this a fever or something else? God, how she hated being so helpless! She was a capable woman, everyone said so. She should know what to do.
It was so frightening to see him like this, so awful to watch him suffer so and not know how to ease it.
His head tossed on the pillow, his dark hair clinging damply to his forehead. The lines around his mouth seemed deeper, his eyes underscored with dark smudges. Several days' growth of stubble decorated his jaw and upper lip. He bore little resemblance to the man who had left her little more than a week ago.
Had he done this to himself because of her? Stupid, idiot man. Did he not realize she was not worth his own health? No one was.
"Eleanor."
He had spoken! Eleanor rushed to the side of the bed. "Brahm?"
But he didn't hear her— or at least didn't acknowledge her. His head moved from side to side, his brow puckering as a dream or some kind of delusion took hold.
"Eleanor," he repeated, his voice hoarse and low. "Does not trust me…does not believe…changed. Have not…changed."
Tears stung the back of Eleanor's eyes. This
was
because of her. All because of her. Reaching down, she brushed a lock of hair back from his warm brow. "I do trust you, Brahm, I really do." In her heart, she knew it to be true.
At least she trusted him when it came to other women. She trusted him with her heart. It might take a little time for her to trust him not to get drunk every time things became tense between them, but she would get there eventually, of that she was certain. Brahm would see to it.
It would take some time for him to learn to trust her again as well. She had wounded his pride with her rejection. She would have to prove her sincerity and her loyalty. It might be quite a while before he renewed his desire to marry her, if he did at all. She wasn't going to think of that right now. All that mattered at this moment was getting him through this ordeal. Everything else could wait.
But if Brahm thought he was getting rid of her once he was himself again, he was in for a disappointment. She wasn't going anywhere— not without a fight.
He talked more as she hovered over him, but she didn't understand any of it. She didn't try to speak to him or wake him, she merely watched, her forehead aching with the strain of her frown. She mopped his brow with her handkerchief, too afraid to do anything else for fear of making matters worse.
Finally the physician— Griggs was his name— arrived. He had a friendly face and a kindly manner that instantly put Eleanor at ease. He told her he had seen Brahm's symptoms before and had attended to both Brahm and his father in the past.
"Go get some rest," he urged with a smile. "Have some breakfast, and do whatever it is you ladies do in the morning. I will look after Lord Creed. I promise."
Eleanor believed him. He was certainly more qualified to help Brahm than she was. She left him once he had promised to find her before taking his leave— and if anything should happen to Brahm— and went to the room the servants had prepared for her. She rang for her maid and hot water. Surely she must look and smell a fright.
One look in the mirror confirmed her suspicion. She did look a fright. Ugh. She smelled awful as well.
She bathed quickly in a hip bath, resolving to take a more leisurely soak later when she was sure Brahm was going to be fine. Mary helped her into a morning gown of summer blue muslin and brushed out her hair, only to restyle it in a very simple knot at her nape. Eleanor didn't have time for frivolities. She had to get downstairs and have something to eat before Brahm's brothers arrived and Griggs left.
Once Brahm was back in her care, she knew food would be the last thing on her mind. And she certainly wouldn't be able to eat with his brothers around. What if they blamed her for the lapse in Brahm's behavior as well? Earlier she had thought they would be well-appreciated support, but they might just as easily despise her.
She was seated alone at the long, highly polished table, sipping a cup of tea and somehow managing to enjoy eggs, sausage, and buttered toast, when two gentlemen entered the dining room. Wynthrope and North, if she was not mistaken. Her appetite vanished at the sight of them.
They were handsome men, as one might expect from a Ryland. Both were tall and blue-eyed, though the shade of blue varied vastly from one to the other. Wynthrope was the slighter of the two, with dark hair and a self-possessed air. North was the more powerfully built, his wavy hair touched with auburn. He offered her a slight smile.
"You must be the famous Lady Eleanor," he said as he approached the table.
"More like
infamous
if our brother's rantings are to be believed." Wynthrope smiled as well, taking the sting from his words. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last."
Eleanor couldn't prevent her shock from showing. "Please, sit. A pleasure?"
"Indeed." Wynthrope's grin widened as he pulled out a chair. "Anyone who can vex my brother as thoroughly as you have has my utmost respect."
Respect. She had his respect for what she had done to Brahm. Was this man mad? No, he was joking with her. She could see the amusement in his eyes. A reluctant smile lifted the corners of her mouth.
But then she remembered Brahm and her smile faded. "Your brother is very ill."
The two men now sitting across from her were suddenly very serious as well. "Vomiting, shaking?" Wynthrope inquired.
Eleanor nodded.
North exchanged a glance with his brother. "The delusions will start next."
"I believe they already have," Eleanor informed them, strangely comforted that they seemed to be familiar with all the symptoms. Perhaps Brahm was going to recover after all.
The brothers nodded, almost in unison. "He will be belligerent as well," North cautioned her. "He may say some very mean things to you."
"Try to ignore it," Wynthrope advised. "It is not him but the poison inside coming out."
That was a very interesting way to think of it. She didn't tell them that Brahm had already said awful things to her, and she didn't want to think that it might get worse.
"Mr. Griggs is with him now," she informed them. "He should be down soon. I asked him for a meeting before he leaves."
"Then we will wait with you." North helped himself to a cup of coffee from the silver pot. When he was finished, Wynthrope did the same.
Eleanor could avoid it no longer. If they were going to remain silent on the topic, then she would have to broach it. "I am very sorry."
Both men looked at her over their cups, their expressions curious and nearly identical. "For what?"
Was it not obvious? Her own cup returned to its saucer with a rattle. Perhaps Brahm's shaking was contagious. "I am to blame for your brother's relapse."
Wynthrope's gaze was mildly teasing. "Held the bottle to his lips, did you?"
This man had the strangest sense of humor. "Of course not, but had it not been for my refusal of his proposal, this wouldn't have happened."
"So that is what happened." North took a swallow of coffee. "I had wondered."
His brother shot him a smug look. "I knew it."
They hadn't known? Brahm hadn't told them? Now that they did know, how could they not despise her? Eleanor could not believe it. "I feel terrible about it."
Wynthrope shook his head. "You shouldn't. It really is not your fault."
How could he say that? Obviously the question was plain on her face because North answered it. "Brahm had a choice, Lady Eleanor. No one made him take a drink. He chose to do it. What is happening to him now is his own fault, not yours."
The arrival of Mr. Griggs prevented Eleanor from arguing. The trio around the table stood. How she wished she could look as calm as North and Wynthrope did, but even she could not hide her emotions that well.
"How is he?" Eleanor inquired softly.
Mr. Griggs offered her a slight smile. "Sick as a dog and not likely to feel much better for at least another day."
Oh dear heaven! "What can I do for him?"
The physician handed her a folded slip of paper. "I have made a list. He will need plenty of fluids, although it will be difficult for him to keep them down. No solid food for at least another forty-eight hours. Just broth, tea, and water."
"That is it?" No medicine, no poultices or treatments?
Mr. Griggs's countenance turned sympathetic. "Patience is the only medicine you can give him, my lady. The ill humors must work their way out and his body introduced to food slowly. Once the brain fever has subsided, he will begin to return to himself and there will be more you can do for him."
Eleanor thanked the physician and offered to see him to the door, but he insisted that wasn't necessary.
"Have you emptied the house of all liquor?" Wynthrope asked once there were just the three of them once more.
Eleanor nodded. "Yes. All that I know of is gone."
He turned to North. "I will check all the usual hiding spots." He flashed Eleanor a sincere smile. "There will be more stashed throughout the house. Better to be rid of it before he comes to his senses and is strong enough to go looking for it."
North set his empty cup on the table. "I will send for Charles, Brahm's valet. He is no doubt beside himself waiting for news."
This was normal then? "What should I do?"
"Sit with him," North suggested. "Once Charles returns we will bathe him, but for now you can take him some water."
And that was it. She was the one who was supposed to look after him, to make everything right again, and she couldn't. "I feel so useless." Eleanor froze, realizing she had said the words aloud.
The brothers came to her then, each laying a reassuring hand on her shoulders. How comforting their presence was, despite her anger at her own ineptitude. North spoke, "Your job will come soon enough, and it won't be an easy one."
"What is that?" she asked, her gaze drifting from one to the other.
Their smiles were grim, and it was Wynthrope who answered. "Convincing him to stay sober."
* * *
"I thought I told you to get the hell out of my house."
They were in Brahm's bedroom. He had just woken up— too damn early at that— to find Eleanor in his room. She had a tray in her hands, and he could smell the hot buttered eggs, freshly brewed coffee, and toast from the bed. His stomach growled in welcome, despite his malcontent.
"You did." Eleanor set the tray across his lap, seemingly unbothered by the scowl on his face. "Several times, in fact."
"Then why are you still here?" Yes, dear God, why was she?
She flipped open a napkin and laid the snowy white linen over his bare chest. "I chose to ignore your request."
Brahm looked down at her handiwork. The napkin looked ridiculous against his hairy skin. "I do not require a damn bib!"
She continued on as though she hadn't heard, arranging everything on the tray so that it was within easy reach.
Four days. Four days she had been in his house, harping at him, hovering over him like a hen with her chick. No matter what he did, how vilely he behaved, or how disgusting the symptoms of his recovery, she would not leave.
