A Duke’s Overlooked Spinster (The Courting Season #1)

Chapter 21

The breeze ruffled the lawn and stirred Sarah’s hair where it escaped from the loose bun into which she had styled it. She reached up and tucked a strand back into its confining pins and gazed out over the landscape, her eyes scanning the horizon. The hills were far away across grassy fields, and Bath was just visible to her left, a hive of yellowed stone that glinted in the sun. She sat on a bench high up on the Averhill estate, one that she had found after hours of walking through the grounds looking for just such a place. After the ball the previous evening, she needed somewhere far away from the guests to sit and contemplate what had happened.

“He kissed me.”

She said the words out loud, not for the first time that morning. At her feet, Buttons whimpered. She had brought him out with her, thinking he would enjoy a long walk and the early morning sunshine, but he chafed at the inactivity while she sat and sketched the distant hills, and at the first sign of life from her, he whined and wanted to walk on.

“Shh, little fellow,” she said gently, reaching down and scooping the little puppy onto the bench beside her. He tried to lick her face, standing with his paws on the front of her dress and she chuckled and stroked his fur and then set him down on the lawn again.

Her mind wandered again to the events of the previous evening. She had not stopped thinking about it all night. The feeling of his lips, warm and surprisingly soft, on her own, the way he had drawn her close against him, holding her tight in his arms. Her cheeks flushed with heat at the memory of that closeness, of how she had longed to wrap her arms around him and hold him closer still.

The little puppy yipped, and Sarah stood up, smiling down at Buttons, who took off across the lawn, circling ahead and running back playfully. She patted his head and walked slowly down the path as he bounded off and then returned again.

I wonder if his mother saw us, she thought, her fingers lacing through one another in an anxious manner.

“And what will she think, or do, if she did see?” she asked aloud.

Buttons ran over, confused at the sound of her voice. She bent down and patted him absently and he leapt up, paws on her dress. She grinned and ruffled his ears. A few flecks of mud were easy to brush out, and she let him jump up, enjoying his playful behavior. It took her mind off her worries.

They rounded the corner near the house and Buttons took off. Sarah let out a cry of fear. Ever since the incident with the duchess, she had been terrified that Buttons would run into the woman. Not only did she desperately wish to avoid the duchess lest she had seen, she also did not want Buttons to get into trouble. The duchess would not be able to convince Caroline or Edward to disallow the puppy in their home, but still Sarah preferred to avoid a scene.

“Buttons!” Sarah called, running down the path after the little dog. “No! Wait!”

The little puppy did not heed her calls, but ran around the corner, out of sight. Sarah hurtled after him, ignoring the jarring pain of running on the gravel in her thin-soled boots. She cannoned around the corner and then stopped at the sound of a delighted giggle.

“Miss Brooke!” Henry greeted her. He was sitting on the path, and Buttons was jumping up with his paws on the boy’s chest, doing his best to lick his face. Henry laughed and ruffled the little dog’s ears and then stood up.

“Henry!” Sarah let out a sigh of relief as he turned and jogged towards her. “I am so glad that it’s you. Where is Mrs. Wellman?” she added with a frown.

“Inside,” Henry said quickly. “She does know I’m outdoors. I asked her if I might go for a walk. She’ll likely come looking for me soon, but I hoped to see Buttons, and he found me!” Henry let out a breathless sigh. Sarah frowned. He was leaning forward, his hands on his knees, breathing heavily as if he had run far. He had not run particularly far—she had seen him run much further. He had just rounded the corner of the path, and he already seemed fatigued.

She looked at his face. It was pale, almost white, but he was always pale. Two spots of color showed on his cheeks, but that could have been exertion.

He has been running around. You’re looking for things to trouble yourself about, Sarah told herself firmly.

“Shall we go indoors?” Sarah asked as he sat down on the path, ruffling Buttons’ ears again. “Mayhap we can play in the gallery again.”

“That would be grand!” Henry said cheerfully. Buttons was running around on the lawn. Henry chased him for a few paces, but then sat down breathlessly again. Sarah frowned.

“Are you feeling well, Henry?” she asked him carefully. He looked up, his blue eyes bright.

“Oh, yes, Miss Brooke!” He answered at once. “Most well.”

Sarah bit her lip. He did not seem well.

“Come on,” she said, ignoring the matter. “Let’s go inside.”

Buttons took off, running on the wide stretch of the front lawn with delight. Henry ran after him and Buttons found a stick. Sarah chuckled with delight as Henry threw it for the little puppy, who had learned the game extremely fast.

Henry was whooping with joy as he ran, just as he usually did, and she pushed aside her fearful thoughts. There was nothing wrong with Henry. He was just a little weary—perhaps the ball had interrupted his sleep as well.

Sarah blushed as thoughts of the ball returned to her mind.

“Henry!”

A male voice rang out, crisp and authoritative. She froze as she saw a tall, blond-haired man striding down the front steps. It was the duke. Her cheeks flamed as he saw her and paused for a second, his eyes locking with hers. Then he walked slowly over.

“Miss Brooke,” he greeted her. His voice was meltingly tender, and Sarah stared up at him, trying to read the expression in his eyes. It seemed a little guarded and she was not sure how to interpret it. She gazed up at him, remembering her manners enough to drop a brief curtsey.

“Your Grace,” she greeted him. Her voice sounded strange—tight and higher-pitched than usual and she cleared her throat. It was tense with the feelings racing through her.

“I was...” the duke began and then his eyes widened in horror, his gaze moving past her. Sarah turned to look at what he was seeing, even as he shouted aloud.

“ Henry !”

Sarah gasped. Henry had been running on the lawn with Buttons, but he was lying on the grass, unmoving and Buttons was pawing at his face, licking and nipping, desperate to try and waken the boy. Sarah let out a cry of shock, and turned to the duke, but he had already started to run.

He ran to where Henry was lying on the ground, and Sarah ran after and reached him as he flopped Henry onto his back. The little boy seemed lifeless, and Sarah’s eyes filled with tears of horror.

“No,” she whispered. “No. He...”

“He has a heartbeat,” the duke said, his fingers resting on the pulse at the boy’s throat. Sarah let out a cry of relief.

“Thank Heaven,” she cried. She saw the duke bend down towards his son, listening for his breathing. She tensed and the duke nodded.

“He is breathing,” he said after a moment. “What must we do?” He sounded frightened, helpless.

“Good. Good,” Sarah breathed. “We need to get him indoors at once. I will send for the physician. Will you carry him inside?” she asked, but the duke had already bent down and lifted the little boy and was carrying him indoors.

Sarah lifted Buttons, who was frantic, running between the duke and herself as if to ask them for help. She stroked the little puppy, trying to calm him.

“It is all well, little fellow. Henry is alive,” she said slowly, her mind racing as she thought through the possibilities. The little boy had looked as though he had a fever. She recalled times when her father had a fever, and how important it had been to ensure that he drank enough water. Perhaps Henry had simply lost consciousness because he had a fever and had not drunk sufficient water.

They had reached the stairs that led to the house. Sarah opened the door, holding Buttons with one arm, and the duke strode in, hurrying up the stairs with his son in his arms. Sarah followed them, heart pounding.

She walked briskly to the drawing room, where she let out a sigh of relief. The housekeeper, Mrs. Emsley, was there. She went to her, Buttons still held in her arms.

“Mrs. Emsley, the duke’s son has just lost consciousness. If someone could please send for the physician? And if someone else could bring a pitcher of water for the child to drink up to the room? And draw water for a warm bath?” Her mind was racing, drawing on all that she knew about nursing Father through his fevers.

Mrs. Emsley nodded; her brow creased in a concerned frown. “Of course, Miss Brooke. Of course. At once.” She strode to the door. Sarah followed her.

“Send for the physician,” Mrs. Emsley told the butler, who was clearing away the things from the breakfast-room.

“At once,” the butler agreed. He hurried off downstairs. Sarah slumped with relief.

“Thank you,” she murmured to Mrs. Emsley, who was already going downstairs to fetch the water and the bath.

“Not at all, miss. Pray, do not fret,” Mrs. Emsley said kindly. “You seem to have a keen idea of what to do.”

“Thank you,” Sarah whispered.

She walked slowly up the hallway. She had no idea where the duke’s son’s room was, but she could only guess that his own must be close by. Her cheeks flushed. She walked on down the hallway, trying to decide whether she should continue or go back to her room and wait. She was about to go back when a door opened.

“Miss Brooke,” the duke said, seeing her. “I am so glad you are here. I do not know what to do. He seems to be sleeping?”

Sarah nodded and walked to the door. The duke did not hesitate to let her in, and Sarah flushed hotly as she realized that she was in his chamber. She gazed at the door opposite, trying to ignore the bed and his clothes from the previous night in a pile on the chair. The whole room felt like him, smelled of him. She walked resolutely to the door, and he opened it, conducting her hastily through what looked like a small parlor and into another room.

“Henry?” Sarah whispered. She knelt down beside the bed. He was lying on it, still deathly pale. She took his hand and Buttons whimpered and wriggled onto the bed. She did not think to stop him, and he raced across the covers to Henry’s face. He licked his cheek frantically, his little body rocking from side to side. Sarah watched, her heart twisting in pain for the little puppy whose best efforts seemed to be unrewarded. His mute need for Henry to wake up echoed how she felt. She could not bear to see harm come to the little boy. A tear ran down her cheek. She had managed to be so brave, but the puppy’s actions gave voice to her own feelings, giving her the courage to express them. As she started to cry, Henry’s eyelids fluttered, and he groaned.

“Henry!” Sarah shouted. The duke shouted the same and Buttons turned briefly to them, and then exploded into a riot of licking, nibbling and jumping, his delight evident in every part of his tiny body from his flapping ears to his paddling tail.

Henry’s eyes fluttered open. The duke let out a shout of joy and took the boy’s hand in his own, kneeling beside Sarah.

“Son. Henry. Are you well? Can you hear us? You passed out.”

“Papa...” Henry whispered. Sarah winced at the sound of his voice, which was small and soft. His hand had been icy, and she reached to touch his brow.

“Mama?” Henry whispered. Sarah froze. She looked round at the duke. He looked back at her. His blue eyes were tense at the edges but seemed calmer than she felt. She took a deep breath.

“Shh, Henry,” she said softly. She could neither confirm nor refute what he believed he was seeing.

“Mama. I’m sleepy,” he whispered.

“Shh,” Sarah repeated, dusting his hair back from his brow. His forehead was burning with heat. She looked around for a bell-rope, feeling a desperate need for the water she had asked Mrs. Emsley to bring.

As she did so, a knock sounded at the outer door.

“Enter,” the duke called.

“Your Grace, a physician has been summoned,” Mrs. Emsley said, appearing with a pitcher of water. “And Miss Brooke ordered a bath to be drawn. Here is some water,” she added, handing the tray with the water to Sarah. Sarah nodded gratefully.

“Thank you.”

“I cannot thank you enough,” the duke breathed to both Sarah and Mrs. Emsley.

Sarah looked away. Her heart was full of joy for Henry awaking, but she was also certain that she was correct. The little boy had a bad fever.

“Henry,” she said, ignoring the duke and Mrs. Emsley, bending down to the child and the puppy, who had nestled into Henry’s arms. “Do you feel sick?”

“My head hurts,” Henry said. “What happened?” His voice was strained, and Sarah held his hand, realizing how frightened he was. “It went dark. How did I get here in bed?”

“You lost consciousness. I think you need some water. Can you drink some water?” she added, reaching for the pitcher and pouring a cup of water. It was not too cold, and she was grateful for that. She held it to his lips. He sipped at it uncertainly, then took a bigger gulp. Sarah smiled in relief as Henry drank thirstily, then pushed the cup away, falling listlessly back onto the pillow.

“I’m tired,” he told her softly. “Why am I so tired?”

“You have a fever,” Sarah told him gently, resting her hand on his forehead. It was hot. “But we can make you better. The physician will be here soon.” She hoped he would. The strain of being alone with the duke, of caring for Henry with no idea if he knew who she was or not, was strong.

“Good.” Henry sighed and his hand relaxed a little in hers. Buttons had settled down beside Henry on the pillow and seemed disinclined to move. Sarah sat where she was, holding Henry’s hand. He seemed to sleep, his breath shifting into the smoother rhythms of rest. Sarah wiped his brow again.

“Thank you,” the duke began. Sarah swallowed hard. Guilt coursed through her. She felt like an imposter—she did not know if Henry still mistook her for his mother because his mind was wandering in the confusion of high fever. What would the duke think, seeing her take the place of his beloved Elizabeth?

“I did not...” she began, about to explain that she did not intend to pretend. A knock sounded at the door and the physician entered.

“Your Grace, I am Physician Barnbrook. Um... my lady ?” His eyes were wide when they rested on Sarah, and then widened still further at the sight of the puppy on Henry’s bed.

“I am Miss Brooke. I am helping to care for Henry,” Sarah said smoothly, ignoring his apparent shock. “And that is Buttons, and he will stay with Henry,” she added firmly, shooting a glance at the man that brooked no argument.

Henry’s eyes fluttered at the sound of raised voices. Buttons stirred on the pillow. “Buttons,” Henry whispered, reaching for the little dog. Buttons rested his head on Henry’s hand and licked it, then went back to sleep.

“This is highly irregular,” the physician complained, but after a moment he shrugged and rested his hand on Henry’s brow and then felt for his pulse.

Sarah sat with the little boy. She was aware of the duke’s gaze on her, but she ignored him, doing her best to focus on Henry.

When the door shut behind the physician, she heard the duke walk across the floor towards her. Henry had relaxed and was seemingly asleep. She turned around.

“Thank you,” the duke whispered.

“There is nothing to thank me for,” Sarah said softly.

He gazed into her eyes and Sarah’s heart twisted at the mix of emotions she saw there. They seemed turbulent with feeling, like the sky before a storm. She longed to ask him what he was thinking, to hear him say what he wished to say, but as he stepped closer, someone knocked at the door.

“A bath, Your Grace?” a servant asked hesitantly.

“Bring it in,” the duke replied, half-turning to the door.

“At once, Your Grace,” the servant replied, and the door opened. Two footmen carried a wooden bathtub inside. A maidservant followed, carrying two buckets of steaming water.

“I will let you bath your son,” Sarah said gently to the duke. She felt sure that he would not want her to be there for that. She was not part of their family.

“Thank you,” the duke said again. Sarah turned and bent to the bed. Buttons was still sleeping. He opened his eyes and gazed up at her, then blinked as she reached down to lift him up.

“Henry is going to have a bath now,” she told the little dog gently. “We will see him again in a few hours.” Sarah went to the door. She felt the need to get out of the room, where the discomfort of Henry’s mistaking her for his mother still hung in the air. She smiled at him, trying to convey as much reassurance and care as she could. Then she went out into the hall, going steadily to her own room to rest. She would surely worry about Henry and about the duke and what he thought, and about what the duchess might or might not have seen that evening at the ball.