experience of fevers than he can dream of. Furthermore, I know Keeffe.”
She had only gone for the surgeon because she knew the patient must be bled, and that, she admitted, ought not to be trusted to inexperienced hands. “Leeches I can manage,” she said. “But this is not a case for leeches.”
And so she let Greenslade take some blood, then sent him on his way. She stayed in the sickroom, keeping watch over Keeffe, and now and again ordering this and that.
While she harassed the surgeon and inn servants, Ashmont sent two messages express to London, one to his valet and one to Lord Frederick Beckingham.
Uncle Fred was a great pain in the arse, and Ashmont would as soon consult with the devil. But he seemed to be out of his depth, Morris wasn’t helpful, and the men Ashmont would have turned to normally were not available. Ripley was enjoying his purloined wedded bliss and Blackwood wasn’t speaking to Ashmont.
Lord Frederick was a wily old courtier.
True, he might have washed his hands of his troublesome nephew, and Ashmont would have to fend for himself.
In any case, given the miserable weather, one might expect a good wait for a reply, if any came.
But the storm wouldn’t last forever, and the messenger was handsomely paid to endure it. At worst, Sommers, the valet, would come, bringing a change of clothes and all else needful to make Ashmont presentable.
Miss Pomfret, in a soaked dress stuck to her undergarments, appeared in his mind’s eye. As soon as the storm abated a degree, he sent one of the maidservants out to a local dressmaker for fresh clothing. At his sister’s urging, Ripley had done Mrs. Thorne a great favor at one time, and she, like so many in the area, would drop everything to assist Their Dis-Graces.
Ashmont also claimed additional bedchambers, for himself and Morris.
After making sure somebody brought her something to eat, Ashmont adjourned to his bedchamber, wrestled himself out of his coat, and hung it on a chair to dry. He washed his face and combed his hair. He lay down, intending only to rest, but fell instantly asleep.
Cassandra must have dozed, because she woke abruptly to Keeffe’s muttering.
“All right,” he said. “Gently, there, my girls. Gently.”
“That’s right,” Cassandra said softly. “Gently now.”
“Good girls. You did right, miss. Did you see her? Never turned a hair, did she? Gently, gently. Another minute and not even that, and they’d’ve quieted. The reins. Not your fault. Reins broke. It happens sometimes. Even the best. The horses?”
“They’re well,” she said. “Rest now.”
“Where’d he go?”
“The duke?”
“He was here. Did he tell you? Amphion. Oh, he was a one, wasn’t he? Come along once in a lifetime, if you’re lucky. I was lucky. Unlucky. Don’t know which.”
Amphion was the horse he’d ridden on the fateful day. The great racehorse had survived, though. Not to race again, but he’d been well tended and put to stud. The thoroughbred had fared better by far than Keeffe.
“You were lucky,” she said. “You rode that splendid creature.”
“Aye, he was a one, wasn’t he? Something wild, you know. Tricky, too. Full of the devil. You couldn’t look away even to blink your eye. But how he could run. Loved to run. I told him. Said they was one of a kind. He laughed. He said he wasn’t that quick. I said, ‘You’ll do, but mind your paces.’”
He quieted, but remained feverish.
She waited.
Chapter 4
The day wore on, the storm continuing—now intense, now seeming to drop back, like a racer gathering power for the next length. Keeffe slept fitfully, but without stirring much. When he did, muttering incomprehensibly, he seemed to be dreaming rather than delirious.
Cassandra felt as though she were in a delirium.
The past crowded her mind: The night she’d looked up and seen the heavens filled with stardust, and Ashmont had shown her the mythical beings who lived there. The day she’d faced a bully and Ashmont had turned the tide in her favor. All the times thereafter when she’d been invisible to him, one among dozens. Almack’s, when she’d finally begun the rather long process of giving up the fantasy.
Then, oh, as recently as last month, when she’d learnt he was to be wed to Lady Olympia Hightower, and wondered if he’d changed, because Lady Olympia, to her knowledge, was a sensible and intelligent young woman.
Alice had cleared that up, in her letter.
You ask if he’s suddenly reformed. So far as I know, he’s only grown worse, but that isn’t what he