Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,68

to their rooms at Somerton. As she moved closer to the landing at the top, the scene around her changed from the estate in the Peak District she’d lived in with Reggie, to her house in London. When she reached her chambers, Marissa threw open the door and rushed to the bed. Reggie was often absentminded, but he was good at surprises. He sometimes left her love notes, or a pretty stone he’d found. A small token, but one which was a reminder of how much he loved her.

Marissa moved closer, parting the bed curtains.

How odd. She didn’t remember having bed curtains.

Haddon was in her bed, asleep. On her pillow.

A tear slipped from beneath her lashes, and she lifted a finger to wipe it away.

Damn it, Reggie. I see your point. I’m not an idiot.

“You’re awake.”

Marissa opened her eyes to see Jordana curled up in a chair at her bedside, an oversized book on her lap. Turning her head, Marissa read the title with a grimace. Discourses on the Nature and Care of Wounds.

“Why can you not read poetry? Or a lurid romantic novel?” she said. “Wounds, Jordana?”

“Despite your best efforts,” Jordana replied, closing the book with a snap, “I fear I will never be a proper young lady. But for you, I will try. If you don’t like this book, I have one with drawings of the human heart. Would you like me to show you?”

“Goodness, no.” The very idea would compel Marissa to take another swallow of the medicine Doctor Steward had left behind, and she detested laudanum. No wonder she felt hazy.

“How are you feeling? I’ve checked your pupils—”

“You did what? While I was asleep?”

“I overheard Doctor Steward tell Papa what to look for. Are you well?”

“I am, but not so recovered to allow you to read to me from such a thing.” Marissa tilted her head in the direction of the book. “I fear I am squeamish at best.”

“Only of medicinal things? I truly thought you might have a fit of apoplexy when I asked Mr. Coventry about the little sponges he sells. I wasn’t sure how I would explain that to my father.”

“You shouldn’t even know of or ask about such things.”

“I think you are incredibly brave, Marissa. You took me on and,” she said conspiratorially, “everyone in London has heard of your niece.”

Marissa placed a hand over her eyes. “I fear my influence has not been beneficial.”

“Do not blame yourself. One moment I had settled myself in the carriage—”

“Leapt in,” Marissa corrected her. “Your jumping was reminiscent of a grasshopper.”

Jordana bit her lip. “I may have startled the footman. George is new.”

“His name is George?” Marissa tucked the name away.

“Yes. And he has a nervous disposition to begin with—”

“All the more reason for him not to be my footman. How do you know his name?” Marissa narrowed her eyes. Was Jordana flirting with a footman? It seemed unlikely, but stranger things had happened.

“Greenhouse told me. George is his nephew.”

Well, that explains things.

“I think he became more clumsy thinking he would displease you,” Jordana finished.

“Well, I assure you, allowing my own purchases to assault me, like an attack from the heavens, did not endear him to me. Your father wants me to sack him.” Marissa shot her a look. “But I won’t.”

“Papa was very upset,” Jordana said in a serious tone. “Very.”

“I’m sure Lord Haddon was only concerned for your safety. You’d been entrusted to my care, and after seeing what my groom and driver managed today, chances are he won’t allow you out with me again.”

“I doubt that.” Jordana placed her elbow on the arm of the chair, propping her chin up with one hand. The silvery eyes held a hint of mirth. “I’ve rarely seen him in such a state, which is saying something as he lives with me and my horrid sisters. Yes,” she leaned forward, “all the tales of us are true. Even so, Papa rarely raises his voice, not even when a slew of governesses quit or the dancing instructor he hired from London ran out of the house. But that was because Poppy stuck a frog down Mr. Monograt’s trousers.”

“I see.”

“You wouldn’t have liked Mr. Monograt,” Jordana rushed to assure her.

“Possibly. Lord Haddon possesses a patient and calm demeanor.” No one was more appreciative of such a character trait than Marissa.

“I would not have called him patient or calm earlier today.”

Marissa plucked at the coverlet. She didn’t care for the turn of this conversation. “I’m surprised he noticed us