โฆย wonderful lovely niceย good to hear from you. I am glad you are faring well. John would have been proud.ย I miss you. I miss him.ย I miss you. Some of the flowers are still out. Isnโt it nice that some of the flowers are still out?
โ-from the Countess of Kilmartin to the Earl of Kilmartin, one week after the receipt of his second missive to her,
first draft, never finished, never sent
โDidnโt Michael say that he would be joining us for supper this evening?โ
Francesca looked up at her mother, who was standing before her with concerned eyes. She had been thinking the exact same thing, actually, wondering what was keeping him.
Sheโd spent the better part of the day dreading his arrival, even though he had absolutely no idea that she had been so distressed by that moment in the park. Good heavens, he probably didnโt even realize thereย hadย been a โmoment.โ
It was the first time in her life that Francesca was thankful for the general obtuseness of men.
โYes, he did say that he would come,โ she replied, shifting slightly in her chair. She had been waiting for some time now in the drawing room with her mother and two of her sisters, idly passing the time until their supper guest arrived.
โDidnโt we give him the time?โ Violet asked.
Francesca nodded. โI confirmed it with him when he left me here after our stroll in the park.โ She was quite certain of the exchange; she clearly recalled feeling rather sick in her stomach when they had spoken of it. She hadnโt wanted to see him againโnot so quickly, anywayโbut what could she do? Her mother had issued the invitation.
โHeโs probably just running late,โ said Hyacinth, Francescaโs youngest sister. โIโm not surprised. His sort is always late.โ
Francesca turned on her instantly. โWhat is that supposed to mean?โ โIโve heard all about his reputation.โ
โWhat has his reputation to do with anything?โ Francesca asked testily. โAnd anyway, what would you know of it? He left England years before you made your bow.โ
Hyacinth shrugged, jabbing a needle into her extremely untidy embroidery. โPeople still speak of him,โ she said carelessly. โThe ladies swoon like idiots at the mere mention of his name, if you must know.โ
โThereโs no other way to swoon,โ put in Eloise, who, although Francescaโs elder by precisely one year, was still unmarried.
โWell, rake he may be,โ Francesca said archly, โbut he has always been punctual to a fault.โ She never could countenance others speaking ill of Michael. She might sigh and moan and belabor his faults, but it was entirely unacceptable that Hyacinth, whose knowledge of Michael was based entirely on rumor and innuendo, would make such a sweeping judgment.
โBelieve what you will,โ Francesca said sharply, because there was no way she was going to allow Hyacinth to have the last word, โbut he would never be late to a supper here. He holds Mother in far too high regard.โ
โWhat about his regard for you?โ Hyacinth said.
Francesca glared at her sister, who was smirking into her embroidery. โHe
โโ No, she wasnโt going to do this. She wasnโt going to sit here and get into an argument with her younger sister, not when something might actually be wrong. Michael was, for all his wicked ways, faultlessly polite and considerate to the bone, or at least he had always been so in her presence. And he would never have arrived for supperโshe glanced up at the mantel clockโover thirty minutes late. Not, at least, without sending word.
She stood, briskly smoothing down her dove gray skirts. โI am going to Kilmartin House,โ she announced.
โBy yourself?โ Violet asked.
โBy myself,โ Francesca said firmly. โIt is my home, after all. I hardly think that tongues will wag if I stop by for a quick visit.โ
โYes, yes, of course,โ her mother said. โBut donโt stay too long.โ
โMother, I am a widow. And I do not plan to spend the night. I merely intend to inquire as to Michaelโs welfare. I shall be just fine, I assure you.โ
Violet nodded, but from her expression, Francesca could see that she would have liked to have said more. It had been like this for yearsโViolet wanted to resume her role of mother hen to her young widowed daughter, but she held back, attempting to respect her independence.
She didnโt always manage to resist interfering, but she tried, and Francesca was grateful for the effort.
โDo you want me to accompany you?โ Hyacinth asked, her eyes lighting up.
โNo!โ Francesca said, surprise making her tone a bit more vehement than sheโd intended it. โWhy on earth would you want to?โ
Hyacinth shrugged. โCuriosity. Iโd like to meet the Merry Rake.โ โYouโve met him,โ Eloise pointed out.
โYes, but that was ages ago,โ Hyacinth said with a dramatic sigh, โbefore I understood what a rake was.โ
โYou donโt understand that now,โ Violet said sharply. โOh, but Iโโ
โYou doย notโย Violet repeated, โunderstand what a rake is.โ
โVery well.โ Hyacinth turned to her mother with a sickly sweet smile. โI donโt know what a rake is. I also donโt know how to dress myself or wash my own teeth.โ
โI did see Polly helping her on with her evening gown last night,โ Eloise murmured from the sofa.
โNo one can get into an evening gown on her own,โ Hyacinth shot back.
โIโm leaving,โ Francesca announced, even though she was quite certain no one was listening to her.
โWhat are you doing?โ Hyacinth demanded.
Francesca stopped short until she realized that Hyacinth wasnโt speaking to her.
โJust examining your teeth,โ Eloise said sweetly.
โGirls!โ Violet exclaimed, although Francesca couldnโt imagine that Eloise took too kindly to the generalization, being seven and twenty as she was.
And indeed she didnโt, but Francesca took Eloiseโs irritation and subsequent rejoinder as an opportunity to slip out of the room and ask a footman to call up the carriage for her.
The streets were not very crowded; it was early yet, and theย tonย would not be heading out for parties and balls for at least another hour or two. The carriage moved swiftly through Mayfair, and in under a quarter of an hour Francesca was climbing the front steps of Kilmartin House in St. Jamesโs. As usual, a footman opened the door before she could even lift the knocker, and she hurried inside.
โIs Kilmartin here?โ she asked, realizing with a small jolt of surprise that it was the first time she had referred to Michael as such. It was strange, she realized, and good, really, how naturally it had come to her lips. It was probably past time that they all grew used to the change. He was the earl now, and heโd never be plain Mr. Stirling again.
โI believe so,โ the footman replied. โHe came in early this afternoon, and I was not made aware of his departure.โ
Francesca frowned, then gave a nod of dismissal before heading up the steps. If Michael was indeed at home, he must be upstairs; if he were down in his office, the footman would have noticed his presence.
She reached the second floor, then strode down the hall toward the earlโs suite, her booted feet silent on the plush Aubusson carpet. โMichael?โ she called out softly, as she approached his room. โMichael?โ
There was no response, so she moved closer to his door, which she noticed was not quite all the way closed. โMichael?โ she called again, only slightly louder. It wouldnโt do to bellow his name through the house. Besides, if he was sleeping, she didnโt wish to wake him. He was probably still tired from
his long journey and had been too proud to indicate as such when Violet had invited him to supper.
Still nothing, so she pushed the door open a few additional inches. โMichael?โ
She heard something. A rustle, maybe. Maybe a groan. โMichael?โ
โFrannie?โ
It was definitely his voice, but it wasnโt like anything sheโd ever heard from his lips.
โMichael?โ She rushed in to find him huddled in his bed, looking quite as sick as sheโd ever seen another human being. John, of course, had never been sick. Heโd merely gone to bed one evening and woken up dead.
So to speak.
โMichael!โ she gasped. โWhat is wrong with you?โ
โOh, nothing much,โ he croaked. โHead cold, I imagine.โ
Francesca looked down at him with dubious eyes. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, his skin was flushed and mottled, and the level of heat radiating from the bed quite took her breath away.
Not to mention that he smelled sick. It was that awful, sweaty, slightly putrid smell, the sort that, if it had a color, would surely be vomitous green. Francesca reached out and touched his forehead, recoiling instantly at the heat of it.
โThis isย notย a head cold,โ she said sharply.
His lips stretched into a hideous approximation of a smile. โA really bad head cold?โ
โMichael Stuart Stirling!โ
โGood God, you sound like my mother.โ
She didnโt particularly feel like his mother, especially not after what had happened in the park, and it was almost a bit of a relief to see him so feeble and unattractive. It took the edge off whatever it was sheโd been feeling earlier that afternoon.
โMichael, what is wrong with you?โ
He shrugged, then buried himself deeper under the covers, his entire body shaking from the exertion of it.
โMichael!โ She reached out and grabbed his shoulder. None too gently, either. โDonโt you dare try your usual tricks on me. I know exactly how you operate. You always pretend that nothing matters, that water rolls off your backโโ
โIt does roll off my back,โ he mumbled. โYours as well. Simple science, really.โ
โMichael!โ She would have smacked him if he werenโt so ill. โYou will not attempt to minimize this, do you understand me? I insist that you tell me right now what is wrong with you!โ
โIโll be better tomorrow,โ he said.
โOh,ย right,โย Francesca said, with all the sarcasm she could muster, which was, in truth, quite a bit.
โI will,โ he insisted, restlessly shifting positions, every movement punctuated with a groan. โIโll be fine for tomorrow.โ
Something about the phrasing of his words struck Francesca as profoundly odd. โAnd what about the day after that?โ she asked, her eyes narrowing.
A harsh chuckle emerged from somewhere under the covers. โWhy, then Iโll be sick as a dog again, of course.โ
โMichael,โ she said again, dread forcing her voice low, โwhat is wrong with you?โ
โHavenโt you guessed?โ He poked his head back out from under the sheet, and he looked so ill she wanted to cry. โI have malaria.โ
โOh, my God,โ Francesca breathed, actually backing up a step. โOh, my God.โ
โFirst time Iโve ever heard you blaspheme,โ he remarked. โProbably ought to be flattered itโs over me.โ
She had no idea how he could be so flip at such a time.
โMichael, Iโโ She reached out, then didnโt reach out, unsure of what to do.
โDonโt worry,โ he said, huddling closer into himself as his body was wracked with another wave of shudders. โYou canโt catch it from me.โ
โI canโt?โ She blinked. โI mean, of course I canโt.โ And even if she could, that ought not have stopped her from nursing him. He was Michael. He wasโฆ well, it seemed difficult precisely to define what he was to her, but they had an unbreakable bond, they two, and it seemed that four years and thousands of miles had done little to diminish it.
โItโs the air,โ he said in a tired voice. โYou have to breathe the putrid air to catch it. Itโs why they call it malaria. If you could get it from another person, we lot would have infected all of England by now.โ
She nodded at his explanation. โAre youโฆ are youโฆโ She couldnโt ask it; she didnโt know how.
โNo,โ he said. โAt least they donโt think so.โ
She felt herself sag with relief, and she had to sit down. She couldnโt imagine a world without him. Even while heโd been gone, sheโd always known he wasย there,ย sharing the same planet with her, walking the same earth. And even in those early days following Johnโs death, when sheโd hated him for leaving her, even when sheโd been so angry with him that she
wanted to cryโshe had taken some comfort in the knowledge that he was alive and well, and would return to her in an instant, if ever she asked it of him.
He was here. He was alive. And with John goneโฆ Well, she didnโt know how anyone could expect her to lose them both.
He shivered again, violently.
โDo you need medicine?โ she asked, snapping to attention. โDo youย have
medicine?โ
โTook it already,โ he chattered.
But she had to do something. She wasnโt self-hating enough to think that there had been anything she could have done to prevent Johnโs deathโeven in the worst of her grief she hadnโt gone downย thatย roadโbut she had always hated that the whole thing had happened in her absence. It was, in truth, the one momentous thing John had ever done without her. And even if Michael was only sick, and not dying, she was not going to allow him to suffer alone.
โLet me get you another blanket,โ she said. Without waiting for his reply, she rushed through the connecting door to her own suite and pulled the coverlet off her bed. It was rose pink and would most likely offend his masculine sensibilities once he reached a state of sensibility, but that, she decided,wasย hisย problem.
When she returned to his room, he was so still she thought heโd fallen asleep, but he managed to rouse himself enough to say thank you as she tucked the blanket over him.
โWhat else can I do?โ she asked, pulling a wooden chair to the side of his bed and sitting down.
โNothing.โ
โThere must be something,โ she insisted. โSurely weโre not meant to merely wait this out.โ
โWeโre meant,โ he said weakly, โto merely wait this out.โ โI canโt believe thatโs true.โ
He opened one eye. โDo you mean to challenge the entire medical establishment?โ
She ground her teeth together and hunched over in her chair. โAre you certain you donโt need more medicine?โ
He shook his head, then moaned at the exertion of it. โNot for another few hours.โ
โWhere is it?โ she asked. If the only thing she could truly do was to locate the medication and be ready to dispense it, then by God, she would at least do that.
He moved his head slightly to the left. Francesca followed the motion toward a small table across the room, where a medicinal bottle sat atop a folded newspaper. She immediately rose and retrieved it, reading the label as she walked back to her chair. โQuinine,โ she murmured. โIโve heard of that.โ
โMiracle medicine,โ Michael said. โOr so they say.โ Francesca looked at him dubiously.
โJust look at me,โ he said with a lopsidedโand feebleโ grin. โProof positive.โ
She inspected the bottle again, watching the powder shift as she tilted it. โI remain unconvinced.โ
One of his shoulders attempted to move in a blithe gesture. โIโm not dead.โ โThatโs not funny.โ
โNo, itโs theย onlyย funny thing,โ he corrected. โWeโve got to take our laughter where we can. Just think, if I died, the title would go toโhow does Janet always put itโthatโโ
โAwful Debenham side of the family,โ they finished together, and Francesca couldnโt believe it, but she actually smiled.
He could always make her smile.
She reached out and took his hand. โWe will get through this,โ she said. He nodded, and then he closed his eyes.
But just when she thought he was asleep, he whispered, โItโs better with you here.โ
The next morning Michael was feeling somewhat refreshed, and if not quite his usual self, then at least a damn sight better than heโd been the night before. Francesca, he was horrified to realize, was still in the wooden chair at his bedside, her head tilted drunkenly to the side. She looked uncomfortable in every way a bodyย couldย look uncomfortable, from the way she was perched in the chair to the awkward angle of her neck and the strange spiral twist of her torso.
But she was asleep. Snoring, even, which he found rather endearing. Heโd never pictured her snoring, and sad to say, he had imagined her asleep more times than he cared to count.
He supposed it had been too much to hope that he could hide his illness from her; she was far too perceptive and certainly far too nosy. And even though he would have preferred that she didnโt worry over him, the truth was, heโd been comforted by her presence the night before. He shouldnโt have been, or at least he shouldnโt have allowed himself to be, but he just couldnโt help it.
He heard her stir and rolled to his side to get a better look. He had never seen her wake up, he realized. He wasnโt certain why he found that so strange; it wasnโt as if heโd been privy to many of her private moments
before. Maybe it was because in all of his daydreams, in all of his fantasies, heโd never quite pictured thisโthe low rumbling from deep in her throat as she shifted position, the small sigh of sound when she yawned, or even the delicate ballet of her eyelids as they fluttered open.
She was beautiful.
Heโd known that, of course, had known that for years, but never before had he felt it quite so profoundly, quite so deeply in his bones.
It wasnโt her hair, that rich, lush wave of chestnut that he was rarely so privileged as to see down. And it wasnโt even her eyes, so radiantly blue that men had been moved to write poetryโmuch, Michael recalled, to Johnโs everlasting amusement. It wasnโt even in the shape of her face or the structure of her bones; if that were the case, heโd have been obsessed with the loveliness of all the Bridgerton girls; such peas in a pod they were, at least on the outside.
It was something in the way she moved. Something in the way she breathed.
Something in the way she merelyย was.
And he didnโt think he was ever going to get over it. โMichael,โ she murmured, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
โGood morning,โ he said, hoping sheโd mistake the roughness in his voice for exhaustion.
โYou look better.โ โI feel better.โ
She swallowed and paused before she said, โYouโre used to this.โ
He nodded. โI wouldnโt go so far as to say that I donโt mind the illness, but yes, Iโm used to it. I know what to do.โ
โHow long will this continue?โ
โItโs hard to say. Iโll get fevers every other day until I justโฆ stop. A week in total, maybe two. Three if Iโm fiendishly unlucky.โ
โAnd then what?โ
He shrugged. โThen I wait and hope it never happens again.โ โIt can do that?โ She sat up straight. โJust never come back?โ โItโs a strange, fickle disease.โ
Her eyes narrowed. โDonโtย say itโs like a woman.โ โHadnโt even occurred to me until you brought it up.โ
Her lips tightened slightly, then relaxed as she asked, โHow long has it been since your lastโฆโ She blinked. โWhat do you call them?โ
He shrugged. โI call them attacks. Certainly feels like one. And itโs been six months.โ
โWell, thatโs good!โ She caught her lower lip between her teeth. โIsnโt it?โ โConsidering it had only been three before that, yes, I think so.โ
โHow often has this happened?โ
โThis is the third time. All in all, itโs not too bad compared with what Iโve seen.โ
โAm I meant to take solace in that?โ
โI do,โ he said bluntly. โModel of Christian virtue that I am.โ
She reached out abruptly and touched his forehead. โYouโre much cooler,โ she remarked.
โYes, I will be. Itโs a remarkably consistent disease. Well, at least when youโre in the midst of it. It would be nice if I knew when I might expect an onset.โ
โAnd youโll really have another fever in a dayโs time? Just like that?โ โJust like that,โ he confirmed.
She seemed to consider that for a few moments, then said, โYou wonโt be able to hide this from your family, of course.โ
He actually tried to sit up. โFor Godโs sake, Francesca,ย donโtย tell my mother andโโ
โTheyโre expected any day now,โ she cut in. โWhen I left Scotland, they said they would be only a week behind me, and knowing Janet, that really means only three days. Do you truly expect them not to notice that youโre rather convenientlyโโ
โInconveniently,โ he cut in acerbically.
โWhichever,โ she said sharply. โDo you really think they wonโt notice that youโre sick as death every other day? For heavenโs sake, Michael, do credit them with a bit of intelligence.โ
โVery well,โ he said, slumping back against the pillows. โBut no one else. I have no wish to become the freak of London.โ
โYouโre hardly the first person to be stricken with malaria.โ
โI donโt want anyoneโs pity,โ he bit off. โMost especially yours.โ She drew back as if struck, and of course he felt like an ass. โForgive me,โ he said. โThat came out wrong.โ
She glared at him.
โI donโt want your pity,โ he said repentantly, โbut your care and your good wishes are most welcome.โ
Her eyes didnโt meet his, but he could tell that she was trying to decide if she believed him.
โI mean it,โ he said, and he didnโt have the energy to try to cover the exhaustion in his voice. โI am glad you were here. I have been through this before.โ
She looked over sharply, as if she were asking a question, but for the life of him, he didnโt know what.
โI have been through this before,โ he said again, โand this time wasโฆ different. Better. Easier.โ He let out a long breath, relieved to have found the correct word. โEasier. It was easier.โ
โOh.โ She shifted in her chair. โIโmโฆ glad.โ
He glanced over at the windows. They were covered with heavy drapes, but he could see glimmers of sunlight peeking in around the sides. โWonโt your mother be worried about you?โ
โOh,ย no!โย Francesca yelped, jumping to her feet so quickly that her hand slammed into the bedside table. โOw owย ow.โ
โAre you all right?โ Michael inquired politely, since it was quite clear sheโd done herself no real harm.
โOhโฆโ She was shaking her hand out, trying to stem the pain. โIโd forgotten all about my mother. She was expecting me back last night.โ
โDidnโt you send her a note?โ
โI did,โ she said. โI told her you were ill, but she wrote back and said she would stop by in the morning to offer her assistance. What time is it? Do you have a clock? Of course you have a clock.โ She turned frantically to the small mantel clock over the fireplace.
It had been Johnโs room; it still was Johnโs room, in so many ways. Of course sheโd know where the clock was.
โItโs only eight,โ she said with a relieved sigh. โMother never rises before nine unless there is an emergency, and hopefully she wonโt count this as one. I tried not to sound too panicked in my note.โ
Knowing Francesca, it would have been worded with all the coolheaded calmness she was known for. Michael smiled. Sheโd probably lied and said sheโd hired a nurse.
โThereโs no need to panic,โ he said.
She turned to him with agitated eyes. โYou said you didnโt want anyone to know you had malaria.โ
His lips parted. He had never dreamed that she would hold his wishes quite so close to her heart. โYou would keep this from your mother?โ he asked softly.
โOf course. It is your decision to tell her, not mine.โ It was really quite touching, rather tender evenโ
โI think youโre insane,โ she added sharply. Well, maybe tender wasnโt quite the right word.
โBut I will honor your wishes.โ She planted her hands on her hips and regarded him with what could only be described as vexation. โHow could you even think I would do otherwise?โ
โI have no idea,โ he murmured.
โReally, Michael,โ she grumbled. โI do not know what is wrong with you.โ โSwampy air?โ he tried to joke.
She shot him A Look. Capitalized.
โIโm going back to my motherโs,โ she said, pulling on her short gray boots. โIf I donโt, you can be sure she will show up here with the entire faculty of the Royal College of Physicians in tow.โ
He lifted a brow. โIs that what she did whenever you took ill?โ
She let out a little sound that was half snort, half grunt, and all irritation. โI will be back soon. Donโt go anywhere.โ
He lifted his hands, gesturing somewhat sarcastically to the sickbed. โWell, I wouldnโt put it past you,โ she muttered.
โYour faith in my superhuman strength is touching.โ
She paused at the door. โI swear, Michael, you make the most annoying deathly ill patient I have ever met.โ
โI live to entertain you!โ he called out as she was walking down the hall, and he was quite certain that if sheโd had something to throw at the door, she would have done so. With great vigor.
He settled back down against his pillows and smiled. He might make an annoying patient, but she was a crotchety nurse.
Which was just fine with him