Lady Emma looked vaguely nauseous at the mention of that hideous word,change.
“I suppose we shall see,” she said, without a hint of feeling behind the words. “You are the Marchioness now. You can do as you like.”
Patrina began to feel a little guilty. Perhaps it was the combination of fear over what awaited her ahead and grief over what she had left behind, but she had a feeling that she had been too harsh with Lady Emma. After all, the woman was only trying to make her feel at home.
I’ll never feel at home here, with these people,Patrina thought bleakly. She caught Lady Emma’s eye, and gave a small, nervous smile.
“Not that I mean to change things very much, of course. I suppose we all want to make our mark on the world, at least a little.”
Lady Emma hesitated, then gave her a small smile in response.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
They fell into silence as the journey continued. Nobody had much to say; it seemed that they were all too tired. Cynthia slumped against the side of the carriage and slept, Lady Emma took out what appeared to be a small journal and scribbled notes, while Lord Morendale turned towards the window, face shadowed.
After some time – Patrina had no watch, and so could not trace exactly how much time had passed – he turned, glancing towards her.
“You have nothing to read, nothing to do, Miss M… Patrina. I suppose I may call you Patrina, now?”
She gave a small smile. “Indeed, I think so. And no, I did not bring anything. Foolish of me, I suppose.”
“I brought a book to read myself, but I find myself with too much to reflect upon to bother reading it. Here, you could have a look if you wish.”
“Emma,” she read aloud. “By A Lady. Would this be the sameLadywho wrote that marvellous novel,Pride and Prejudice?”
“I believe so. I’m quite enamoured by her works, I must say.”
“You have fine taste. I haven’t read this one yet,” Patrina commented, flashing a wry smile and opening the book. There was an inscription on the first leaf:
To Neil, From Cynthia: Saw This In A Bath Bookshop, And I Had To Buy It For You! Enjoy, And Much Love From Your Sister.
She glanced up at him again. “Neil. Your name is Neil.”
He tilted his head. “Yes. Did you not already know that?”
“I don’t believe so. Or I may simply have forgotten. You’ve always beenLord Morendalein my head.”
“My apologies, I should have introduced myself properly. I am Neil, and you are Patrina. To the world, we are Lord and Lady Morendale, Marquess and Marchioness. But to each other, I hope we can be something more informal, at least.”
Something tightened in Patrina’s chest. He really did look ill. He was paler than before, if possible, and she remembered what Agnes had said about him being entirely too thin. His eyes were huge in his face, and there were dark shadows under his eyes.
“I hope so, too,” she said quietly, aware of Lord Emma and Cynthia just inches away, probably both pretending not to listen.
He smiled tiredly back. “We should be happy enough, you and I, I think. I have no intention to make you unhappy.”
“Nor I you.”
He nodded in response, and abruptly began to rummage in his pockets. He withdrew a small bottle with a stoppered top, hand shaking almost as hard as it had during their wedding ceremony, and carefully measured out a few drops onto his tongue. The taste must have been bitter, because he screwed up his face and swallowed with an effort.
“Medicine?” she asked, a little unnecessarily.
He nodded. “Our family physician prescribes them for me. They don’t seem to be doing much good, but he assures me that the fits would be a great deal worse without them.”
“Did your father have the same medicine?”
Neil paused, a frown appearing between his brows. “I cannot recall. He might have. Mr. Blackburn took care of him, too.”
“Hm. Well, perhaps it might be a time for a change in that respect. Could Mr. Blackburn not recommend other treatments?”