Page 29 of The Earl's Inconvenient Houseguest

A barefoot and rather rumpled Rafe, she now noticed.

One who looked as if he had stumbled into the untucked shirt and breeches he was wearing. Even his sling was askew and twisted wrong as if donned while not in full control of all his faculties. ‘Did the footman wake you when I sent him to fetch the doctor?’ Because the more she stared at him, the more it appeared he had just fallen out of bed. ‘He shouldn’t have done that when I warned all the servants that you need your rest.’

‘I gave him strict instructions to wake me if anything happened and as I pay his wages I dare say that still supersedes your bossy swathe of orders.’ He smiled as he came towards her. ‘But talking of rest, I cannot help noticing that you are in dire need of some yourself. You look exhausted.’ Gentle fingers brushed her cheek in concern, the overwhelming intimacy of the innocent gesture clearly taking them both by surprise as he quickly retracted them. ‘Now that she has regained consciousness, you should go to bed.’

Sophie shook her head. ‘I am not leaving her alone until the crisis has passed.’

By the stubborn glint in his bright blue eyes Rafe was about to argue but the doctor returned and ushered them back into the sickroom where Aunt Jemima was propped semi-upright on a nest of pillows. ‘I have made her as comfortable as possible, and this position will help with the cough and her breathing. I have also given her a sleeping draft made from valerian rather than any laudanum as that will be gentler on her system but should still be strong enough to ease some of the pain and help her rest. Rest and fluids are the best medicine at the moment. I shall return first thing to check on her progress.’

‘You are not staying?’ Panic gripped Sophie. ‘But what if...’

A large, reassuring hand slipped through hers. ‘She’s sleeping, Sophie. Right now, she seems neither in any distress nor in any pain.’ He laced his fingers through hers and inexplicably that eased her distress. ‘Right now there is nothing more to worry about than keeping her in that state while her body heals.’

Dr Able agreed, his gaze flicking to Rafe’s in some unspoken conversation before he smiled at her. ‘I am not a betting man, Sophie, but if I were, in my humble medical opinion, the odds of the worst happening in the next few hours are slim.’

Rafe’s fingers tightened around hers and he tugged her to face him. ‘So go to bed, woman, at least until the sleeping draft wears off.’

‘Not until...’ Rafe stayed her words with a finger to her lips and they seemed to blossom into life beneath his touch.

‘Just for an hour. You are dead on your feet.’

‘But...’ The pressure on her lips intensified.

‘Go to blasted bed, you obstinate, stubborn wench, and entrust me with taking care of your aunt for the next hour. You are no good to her—or anyone—like this.’ The finger on her lips moved to trace her cheek, leaving a trail of tingles in its wake. ‘And on behalf of the eminently qualified Dr Able and myself, be in no doubt that that is our final word on the matter.’

The wretch had solemnly promised to wake her after an hour and reneged. Instead, he’d left her to sleep long past breakfast. Sophie awoke naturally with a start, dashed to her aunt’s bedroom in her nightgown and was met by the sight of Dr Able snapping closed his medical bag while her aunt slept soundly, and Hockley Hall’s housekeeper was sat in the chair beside the bed.

He was more optimistic than he had been in the small hours, and reported that she was doing well enough that he had given her enough laudanum to knock her out cold for the next few hours so that the healing powers of sleep could work their magic. The housekeeper, he also informed her, had been fully briefed on how to take proper care of his patient until he returned this afternoon, so he was prescribing Sophie a big breakfast back in bed followed by a long, hot bath because he felt she needed them more than Aunt Jemima needed her.

An hour later, refreshed, clean and fed, that appeared very much to be the case as Aunt Jemima was not only still sleeping with the housekeeper on guard at her side, she was snoring.

Which left Sophie not quite knowing what to do with herself.

Self-conscious and well aware that she was only a guest in this strange, cluttered house on sufferance, she went downstairs in search of Rafe, to say goodness only knew what only to see no sign of him or anyone in any of the main rooms. She hesitated at the door of his study, then decided not to enter. Not so much because it felt wrong to do so or because she might interrupt him while he was working, but because she had a vague recollection he had told her that that was where he had put all the items Ned had managed to salvage from the fire and she wasn’t anywhere ready to face that ordeal yet. Instead, she followed the noises coming from the kitchen where she found Archie sat chatting to the kindly faced cook.

‘You look better,’ said Archie, beaming, while he pointed to his face. ‘The ugly shadows have gone from beneath your eyes.’

The cook shushed him. ‘Don’t be so tactless, young man. You never refer to a woman as ugly, especially to her face.’ She rolled her eyes at Sophie who couldn’t help smiling at the ill-considered compliment.

‘I wasn’t calling Sophie ugly. Just the dark, puffy shadows.’ Archie seemed quite baffled that anyone could take offence at his words. ‘They made her look old and haggard.’

‘And you certainly never call a lady old to her face either.’ The cook admonished him with a lacklustre wag of one finger then pushed the mixing bowl towards him so he could lick the remnants of the cake mixture from the sides with his finger. ‘You have to remember your manners, Archie. Old and haggard indeed! Apologise immediately.’

‘There’s nothing to apologise for.’ Sophie smiled at them both. ‘I saw myself in the mirror last night and almost screamed at my reflection I looked so dreadful. Archie is only being honest.’

‘See,’ said Archie with a fingerful of cake batter. ‘Sophie knows I am her friend and would never say anything intentionally mean to hurt her. I was only being honest.’

‘Would you like some more tea, Miss Gilbert?’

‘No...’ She had drunk so much she was swimming in the stuff. ‘I was actually looking for the master of the house. Is he around?’

Cook looked to Archie who ran his finger around the rim of the bowl before he answered. ‘Rafe’s gone out with your cat. He tied him to a rope.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Surely she had heard that incorrectly...unless Socrates had attacked him again and Rafe had decided enough was enough. ‘Why has he tied him up?’ She might owe him her life, but she would not stand by and allow cruelty to a defenceless animal, no matter what her vicious cat had done to deserve it.

Archie laughed. ‘He hasn’t tied him up with the rope, he’s tied him to the rope. It was very funny to watch. It took him and Walpole half an hour to catch him and get it around his neck.’

All manner of dreadful scenarios skittered through her mind. ‘Is your brother going to hang my cat! For I swear if he does that or drowns him in the river there will be hell to pay!’

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