Page 94 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke
The conviction in her voice seemed to steady him somewhat, though his complexion remained worryingly pale. By the timethey reached the entrance hall, Jane and Miss Waverly had joined them, the latter’s face tight with concern as she hovered anxiously at Percy’s side.
“Is he badly hurt?” she asked Samantha, her hands twisting anxiously in her gloves.
“The cut appears shallow,” Samantha replied, offering what reassurance she could. “Though it will require proper cleaning and bandaging.”
“I assure you, I am perfectly well,” Percy insisted, summoning a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Though I must apologize for this unseemly display, Miss Waverly. It was most unworthy of?—”
“You defended your family’s honor,” Miss Waverly interrupted with surprising firmness. “There is nothing unworthy in that.”
The simple statement brought a flush of genuine pleasure to Percy’s pallid features, momentarily displacing the pain and embarrassment of the encounter. “You are too kind,” he murmured.
“Not at all,” she replied, a shy smile softening her usually composed expression. “Though perhaps in future, you might consider less… physical methods of expressing your displeasure.”
This elicited a weak chuckle from Percy. “I shall endeavor to remember your wisdom, though I confess poetic verse seemed insufficient for the occasion.”
Their carriage awaited outside, the footmen scrambling to attention at Lord Tenwick’s brisk commands. As they assisted Percy inside, Samantha noted with growing concern that his skin had taken on a clammy sheen despite the warmth of the afternoon. When his hand touched hers, she felt the unnatural heat radiating from his palm.
“Percy, are you certain you feel well?” she asked quietly as the others arranged themselves within the carriage. “You seem rather flushed.”
“Merely the excitement of the moment,” he assured her, though his attempt at a cavalier smile did not quite succeed. “And perhaps a touch of embarrassment at having caused such a scene.”
Samantha was not convinced, but she refrained from pressing the issue as the carriage lurched into motion. Throughout the journey back to Uncle William’s townhouse, she observed Percy with growing unease. His usual animation had dimmed, replaced by a distracted quality that suggested his mind was elsewhere—or perhaps, more concerningly, that he was marshaling his strength to maintain the appearance of wellness.
By the time they arrived, his color had deteriorated further, the earlier flush giving way to an alarming pallor broken only by two spots of hectic color high on his cheekbones. As he descendedfrom the carriage, he swayed slightly, Lord Tenwick’s steady hand at his elbow all that prevented him from stumbling.
“Percy?” Samantha questioned, alarm sharpening her voice.
“Just a momentary dizziness,” he replied, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. “Nothing to concern yourself with, Aunt Samantha.”
But as they entered the house, the bright afternoon light streaming through the windows illuminated the perspiration beading on his forehead and the glassy sheen of his eyes. When Miss Waverly hesitantly touched his hand in farewell, she drew back with a small gasp.
“Lord Stonehall, you’re burning with fever!” she exclaimed, her concern evident in every line of her face.
Samantha pressed her palm to Percy’s forehead, confirming the young woman’s assessment with growing alarm. “Jane, have Simmons prepare the blue guest chamber immediately,” she instructed. “Ralph, if you would assist Percy upstairs? I fear he is indeed unwell.”
“I assure you, there is no need for such—” Percy began, but the protest died on his lips as another wave of dizziness visibly overcame him. “Perhaps… perhaps I might rest for a moment before returning home,” he conceded.
As Tenwick guided him toward the stairs, Samantha turned to Uncle William, her decision crystallizing with sudden clarity. “Uncle, I must send word to Ewan immediately. Percy’s condition appears to be worsening by the moment, and his guardian should be informed without delay.”
“Your Grace, I must urge you to remain calm, but the Viscount has sent for you.” His butler’s typically unflappable voice carried an unusual edge that immediately set Ewan’s nerves alight.
“What’s happened?” Ewan demanded, already rising from his desk where he’d been pretending to review estate papers, his mind a thousand miles away—or rather, merely across London where his wife had taken refuge.
“I’m not entirely certain of the details, Your Grace.” The butler hesitated, which was so uncharacteristic that Ewan felt ice form in his veins. “A messenger from Lord Norfeld’s household arrived moments ago. It seems Lord Stonehall has been injured in some sort of altercation at Somerset House. He is now at Lord Norfeld’s townhouse, and apparently in a state of considerable distress.”
Ewan was halfway to the door before the other man had finished speaking. “Have the carriage brought round immediately.”
“It awaits you already, Your Grace. I took the liberty?—”
But Ewan had already pushed past him, taking the stairs two at a time, his heart hammering against his ribs with a fear he had not experienced since the night he’d found Benedict standing over that poor stable boy, fists bloodied and eyes wild with cruelty.
Percy. His nephew. Matthew’s son. The boy he had sworn to protect, to raise with the kindness that had been so absent from his own childhood. He could not stomach the idea that anything terrible should happen to him.
The journey to Lord Norfeld’s townhouse passed in a blur of anxiety, each clatter of the carriage wheels against cobblestone marking another moment that Percy might be suffering without him. When they finally arrived, Ewan did not wait for the footman to lower the steps but leapt down himself, striding toward the entrance with such urgency that the butler barely had time to open the door.
“Where is my nephew?” he demanded without preamble.
“Upstairs, Your Grace. The blue guest chamber.” The servant’s expression betrayed genuine concern. “Her Grace and Dr. Middleton are with him now.”
