says there's no telling how much longer."
"Are you suggesting I look tired?" Lina demanded, looking to take offense.
"No, Lady Whitmore. I'm suggesting that you rode all night over rough roads and unless you're superhuman you'd doubtless like an opportunity to relax. If you'd rather go for a brisk hike in the woods and then organize a house party, I wouldn't think of arguing."
Charlotte could practically hear Lina growling beneath her breath. It was fascinating to observe.
She didn't ever remember a gentleman speaking to Lina with such a deliberately aggravating tone.
Most men fell all over themselves in an effort to ingratiate themselves with her. And she couldn't remember Lina reacting so strongly to provocation.
"My cousin is feeling unwell after the trip," Lina said in her stiffest voice. "She's suffering from travel sickness, and I want to make certain she's comfortable. And then I will come downstairs and sit with Monty until he wakes up, since you had a long, difficult ride. I imagine you need your beauty rest. Unless you have any objections."
Mr. Pagett stiffened, but Charlotte finally decided that even the interesting contretemps between the vicar and her cousin wasn't enough to distract her from her current state of misery. She allowed herself a small whimper, feeling truly pathetic, and Lina rushed to her side, studiously ignoring her newfound nemesis.
When they got to her rooms Meggie stripped her and wrapped her up in a fine lawn nightdress, tucking her up in bed with a warm brick at her feet and a cool damp cloth for her head. She lay back, trying to keep from sniffling miserably. She was just so bloody pitiful. She felt queasy, she had no energy, a]] she wanted to do was sleep. And if that weren't enough, she had the lowering feeling that her heart was broken.
It wasn't fair.
She had no reason to fancy herself in love with a selfish sybarite who cared for nothing and no one but his own pleasure. But once the idea had managed to creep into her thoughts there was no way she could banish it. If she had any kind of sense at all, that last meeting with him, in the closed confines of his town carriage, should have given her a complete disgust of him.
It only made her long for him more.
She moaned, softly enough that Meggie and Lina couldn't hear her. If she just managed to keep her distance she could probably manage to get over him. After all, she'd been recovering, albeit at a ridiculously slow rate. If only she hadn't seen him at Ranelagh, danced with him, let him lead her to the supposed safety of a hackney.
Duplicitous bastard. She liked heaping epithets on his head, the more the merrier. He was sneaky, dishonest, amoral, selfish, mean...there weren't enough bad words to describe him. The more she saw of him the more she disliked him. Or if that wasn't precisely true, at least she was more and more determined to keep her distance from him. If she simply stayed in the country she would never have to see him again. Viscount Rohan was notoriously unmoved by the countryside, avoiding it at all costs. If she could just convince Lina to remove to her Dorset estate then sooner or later Rohan would go abroad, and maybe he'd fall off a mountain or marry a Chinese princess or be eaten by a tiger. She didn't care which fate befell him, as long as it happened soon.
Lina and Meggie were whispering about her. Their voices were low, and clearly they were self-assured enough to think she'd never hear them. They'd forgotten her childhood. She'd spent many of her formative years growing up alone in the old house in Yorkshire, her parents paying no altention to her, the servants whispering their shock over the poor, abandoned child. She knew the concerned tone of the whispers, even if she couldn't make out the actual words.
It didn't matler. All she needed was sleep, and she'd feel wonderful. All she needed...
Lina found Simon Pagett on the terrace overlooking the winding canal that led to the ruins of the old abbey. It was a beautiful late-spring morning, the scent of damp earth in the air, the promise of new life...
She didn't want to be thinking about new life. She and Meggie were probably jumping to conclusions. After all, Charlotte had assured her that the blasted viscount had been careful, and from what she knew of Adrian Rohan, she could well believe it. Society would