Page 21 of Lover
CHAPTER 12
DESPITE RODNEY’S JACKASSERY, the day progressed with a quiet, tentative peace—until I returned from my business to find Ms. Dillard waiting impatiently for me.
“Felicity’s ill. I’ve already called Dr. Hannigan, he’s on his way.” The strained worry in her voice unsettled me. Why did my home seem to attract suffering?
“What are her symptoms?” I asked.
“Vomiting first, and now she’s delirious with fever. Out of the blue,” she replied, skirts rustling in their typical efficient way as we hurried to the staff quarters on the first floor. “She was fine this morning.”
We arrived in the long corridor of rooms where once twenty domestic staff had lived during the house’s most thriving era, now empty save for the two kept by Ms. Dillard and Felicity. We came to the second door nearest the front hall and both of us slowed in tandem, hearing from the other side a low, harsh voice and breaths of pained groaning. Seizing the handle, I pushed the door in without knocking.
Felicity lay in a tangle of sheets, her cheeks so pale they looked gray, wet with tears, her hair a nest from her thrashing, which continued even after we entered, a testament to either the remorseless fever or the pain in her stomach. Rodney looked up with a start from his place by the bed, his fingers sliding up from his sister’s wrist to grasp her hand as though he’d been holding it, and I caught the last dying sparks of some intense emotion creasing his brow.
In the years I’d known the two of them, I’d witnessed firsthand the dichotomy of Rodney’s genuine affection for his only sibling mixed with the poorly controlled anger he’d inherited from his father. I tried to acknowledge that I was on edge from our recent conflict, feeling protective, and, still, stewing for a bit of a fight.
“Rodney,” I said, his name a carefully crafted warning.
“Just checking on my poor girl,” he said, rubbing his thumb soothingly along her knuckles. She was looking at me, eyelids heavy, lips trembling. “She got like this once before when we were kids—something she ate. Too many sweets maybe.”
He looked at her with an indulgent smile not appropriate to the circumstance, and Felicity’s feverish eyes flicked up to his face before another groan of discomfort overtook her.
Ms. Dillard rushed to the bed, shooing Rodney and taking up a rag she’d been using to keep the maid’s forehead cool. The groundskeeper ambled to my side, newly friendly, scratching his neck like a man who knew he was useless.
“She’s always had a sweet tooth,” he said to me, glancing at his sister once more before leaving the room.
I took on the role of Ms. Dillard’s errand boy, running to fetch whatever was needed to keep Felicity comfortable until Dr. Hannigan arrived, returning to Willowfield for the second time the same day.
“Some vicious food poisoning, most likely,” he diagnosed. “I don’t see any reason to take her to the hospital, but all the same, she’ll need several days’ bed rest.”
“Poor girl,” I said, wishing there was more I could do.
The conversation turned to Millie, and the doctor invited me to meet with his colleague, a psychiatrist holding a top position at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. The man would be in a town two hours from here in a few weeks’ time, giving a medical lecture. He had agreed to speak with me about Millie’scircumstances. I accepted the invitation, unsure of whether to play host to hope or horror.
The next day came quietly, and despite the initial chaos of Felicity’s illness, Ms. Dillard assured me she was doing better, and I met Millie to work with a less burdened mind.
“How’s your hand?” I said by way of greeting when I entered the library to find her already there rustling through notes.
She raised it up with some wonder.
“Remarkably better. It hardly pains me at all.”
“Hannigan is more a wizard than a doctor,” I said, encouraging a smile to brighten her eyes.
With this warm start, we began what would be several days of peaceful coexisting, speaking only to ask and answer questions. Then, each evening as the sun began its descent, I took my leave and didn’t lay eyes on her until morning. She never came to my room again, nor did she roam the halls at night, according to Ms. Dillard, who took it upon herself to stand sentry from time to time. As things were going well, I chose to leave Willowfield several times to meet with Burt and Lottie, discussing preparations for the dinner party.
I maintained an intentional distance from her, though not a cold one, wanting her to feel only at ease with me. Still, I couldn’t keep from watching her, enjoying the way she furrowed her brows when deep in thought, her lips moving as she silently recited any Gaelic giving her trouble. The only encounter that tempted a heated exchange occurred when I sent Ms. Dillard to take Millie’s measurements for a dress she could wear to the dinner.
She’d argued with me stubbornly about my gifting her clothes until she’d exasperated me thoroughly with her mulishness.
“Did you bring an evening dress with you, then, Miss Foxboro?” I raised both my brows high, waiting for the answer,watching her grow quiet as one did when they’d been thrown off balance.
“I didn’t realize the dinner would be a formal event.”
“All the dinners at Willowfield are, the guests expect it, so please don’t vex me anymore with your obstinate pride,” I said playfully, slipping into my old way with her, realizing too late she might interpret my words as harsh.
Before I could amend my statement, she muttered, “I’m not the obstinate one.”
I looked at her out of the corner of my eye, daring to believe she was bantering with me. She glanced back, inviting me to disagree, and I could only shake my head and temper my growing smile.
