Lisbon: Richard and Rose, Book 8 (15 page)

I was kneeling over the pot, retching in the aftermath, when I realised someone was holding my hair back, gathering it out of the way. Richard. I must have been tremendously ill because I hadn’t noted his entrance. “I’m sorry,” I managed.

“I don’t have the least idea what you might be apologising for.” His tone of mild reprimand held tenderness too. He twisted the long rope of my hair so it would remain clear of my face, and I felt him slip something under it. He’d secured a ribbon around it.

The next wave of sickness arrived and by then Nichols had roused. Richard was holding my shoulders steady, and I drew back to accept the damp cloth Nichols held and wiped my mouth. Although Richard appeared perfectly calm, I felt his concern, and I feared it might turn into something worse, back to the state of extreme anxiety.

“I’ll come back to bed in a little while,” I told him. “But I would really appreciate something cool to drink.”

“You shall have fresh, iced water,” he said. “I will see to it directly.” I knew he’d ensure the water had been boiled, to make it safe. I loved the way I could trust him.

When he’d gone, I heaved a sigh, but I didn’t have much free time because another wave came upon me, and this time it was worse.

Nichols had fetched fresh pots. I needed both of them, and by the time I had done, I was shivering, despite the mild weather. Nichols threw a robe over my shoulders and went to the door when a gentle tap fell upon it. She murmured to whoever stood outside and returned with a can of hot water. “I’ve roused the kitchen and ordered a bath drawn, my lady.” She crossed the room to the washstand and poured some of the water into the china bowl, watching carefully for any splashes. “But there is something else, first.”

She put the can down on the floor. Steam wreathed around the rim, and I stared at it while I sat on the stool, waiting for the next attack. Nichols put the used pots outside the room and came back in with more. Some poor soul would no doubt dispose of them. She reached into the pocket of her robe and drew out a small screw of paper. I eyed it with suspicion, and I was right to.

Nichols met my eyes when I lifted my gaze to her face. “Ma’am, I’d like permission to purge you.”

I knew my maid—she wouldn’t put me through this without reason. But I wasn’t a child, here to take direction. “Why?”

“Because the way you were retching just now put me in mind of something else. It could be a simple matter of bad food—Carier is conducting enquiries in the kitchen,” she said. I groaned. No doubt the whole house had roused. I hated the fuss, but it was too late to complain now. “I just remember seeing someone in a similar situation, ma’am, and even if it is bad food, the purging will help you to recover faster.”

It would empty the bad food and prepare me to accept new. “Nichols, I feel tired and weak at the moment, but I won’t stay in bed any longer than I have to. Do you understand?”

“I do, ma’am.” She had seen much over the last few months, and while I wouldn’t dream of complaining to my maid, she understood. At the top of her profession—and well able to care for me in other ways too, with her services as a bodyguard well established—I knew I could trust her decision.

“The bad food will not weaken me if I eat properly tomorrow.”

“That it won’t, ma’am,” she agreed. “All the more reason to clean you now.”

I prefer not to recall the following hour. Enough to say that by the end of it I was completely empty. Only then did Nichols allow me to drink a glass of water, which Richard had gone down to the kitchen to supervise the boiling and cooling of, and a similar glass stood waiting on the nightstand in the bedroom.

The bath came as a blessed relief, and I let Nichols do everything necessary until I heard the door click quietly and knew she’d let Richard in to see me. I schooled my face into a tired smile, hiding the exhaustion and the hint of fear deep inside. I would trouble him with them if my suspicions came to a firmer conclusion, but they could easily be a result of my overactive imagination, rather than have any truth. I needed to reassure him. I was his weak spot, so I had to be strong for him. And I did feel better, if somewhat feeble. My stomach ached, but it didn’t feel queasy any longer. Bathed and my hair freshly washed, I went gladly into his arms and let him put me to bed.

“Carier has begun investigations,” he murmured. “I may have to dress myself for a while.” He sighed. “The sacrifices a married man has to make!”

I chuckled and drew back the covers on his side of the bed, remembering not to hold my breath while I waited for him. To my relief, he shed his robe and climbed in next to me. I wanted his arms around me and I got them. “That, my love, will be the day. Carier will be there for you tomorrow.”

Chapter Ten

Waking up with Richard had a special sweetness to it, one I’d missed, a sweetness laced with a trace of excitement. We used to talk about our day, even if we were going our separate ways, on our own business, and we’d meet again before dinner to discuss how it went. The pattern of our days could be predictable sometimes, but the content never so, and after the turbulence of our lives recently I welcomed a chance to settle into a comfortable routine. But that extra touch meant we might choose to start our day a little later.

However he insisted I stayed in bed that day. “I wouldn’t hear of you rising.”

“But I feel perfectly well now. Just bad food.”

He leaned up on one elbow and cupped my cheek. “For me. Stay here for me.”

“Not all day, please.” I groaned. “I’ve spent so much time in bed, I’m tired of it.”

He sighed. “Let me see what Carier has discovered. It’s probably just food poisoning. Since you feel so much better now it’s more than likely. But I want to make sure.” He paused. “Take Lizzie with you if you go to the gardens, not Joaquin, and stay indoors until tomorrow.”

“Jealous after all?” I didn’t want our progress to intimacy halted in any way, so I agreed to send word to Joaquin that Lizzie had asked me to accompany her.

He kissed me again. “No, merely concerned for you. Dress and rest today. I have promised you not to treat you with too much care, but had I been as violently ill as you were, I would certainly wish to rest the next day.”

It took an effort to recall that he had always treated me with such careful concern and it wasn’t a result of my recent illness. It had better not be. “I’ll stay until you’re satisfied. But I wanted to see the gardens today. I want to redesign the gardens of our London house. Perhaps I could do it Portuguese style.”

He laughed, and I loved to see the sparkle return to his eyes. “With box hedges and bushes clipped into odd shapes? Not the whole garden, if you please, sweetheart. I’m fond of the flowers.” The distraction removed the anxiety from his face, and as he bent to kiss me, I felt much happier. He would return to this bed tonight, or we would use his. Not another night apart, I was determined on it.

Truthfully, after such a violent bout of sickness, I was more glad than I wanted to admit to spend the day in gentle, indoor pursuits. But I felt much better, and I took that as a sign of my general return to health, not just a recovery from an unfortunate stomach problem.

The next morning, Lizzie brought me my breakfast tray, refusing anyone’s help. “It was the only way I could get to see you,” she confessed, dumping the laden tray on my lap. She ignored Nichols’s stifled
tsk
s as she removed the tray and put it on a folding table she’d erected on the other side of the bed. My maid poured tea for two and placed a plate of toasted, buttered muffins within reach. My stomach responded, and I gratefully chose one and took a savouring bite.

“I thought you were close to death,” Lizzie said. “But you look well settled to me now.”

I glanced at Nichols and grinned. “My maid insisted on purging me. It left me tired, empty, but recovered.”

Lizzie choked and placed her hand over mine. I could have used it for my tea, but I let it lie for now. “I’m so sorry, Rose. You arrive in Lisbon to convalesce and the first thing we do is give you bad food!”

“Was it the lemon cream?” Only I partook of that dish, so I thought it likely, if no one else had fallen ill. And even in October, this weather was warm enough to turn cream. Unseasonably warm, even for Portugal, Paul had told us.

Lizzie bit her lip. “I’m so sorry.”

“Unless you prepared it yourself, I don’t think it could be your fault.” I took another bite of the muffin, and after I’d swallowed it, wondered aloud why Nichols hadn’t brought up some preserves to go with it.

“I thought we’d start plain, ma’am,” Nichols replied, not in the least abashed. I never expected her to be, but I preferred her straightforward care to Richard’s fussing. Or rather, his gentle, meticulous concern.

I frowned. “I suppose you’re right.” I glanced at the tray. “At least we have enough here. Would you like a muffin, Lizzie?”

She laughed. “No, thank you. I ate earlier. Babies tend to rise early, and I like to see little Paul before he starts his day.”

I could tell from the increased animation in her face that motherhood suited her. More than it did me, perhaps. The depth of my love for Helen and now the boys had shocked me with its intensity. I hadn’t expected to adore my babies quite so much because I had never been enamoured by children overmuch. My nephew Walter, a few others, but I hadn’t deliberately sought their company or always welcomed it. But Lizzie had. She’d always loved children, sharing their games and secrets, and having one of her own, the first of many, I guessed, would make her very happy.

“How many times do you see him every day?”

“More than I should, some of society believes.” She grinned. “Not that I care.”

“How about Paul?”

“Paul doesn’t care, either. He has enough respect and wealth that he doesn’t need to, and he wants only to see me happy.” Her smile widened. “Besides, he is as besotted by his son as I am.”

“And you hope for another?”

She cast me a sly glance. “Actually, we might have achieved that. I’m waiting to discover. It’s early days, and we mustn’t count on events.”

“Counting the days instead?” I laughed when she glanced at Nichols. “You can rely on my maid’s discretion.” I didn’t have to look at her to remind her, I knew she’d say nothing. With the servant network as tight as the one above stairs, it was good to have two servants we could rely on to keep their own counsel, but it was rare. We had to assume that most of what we said in the presence of others would reach other ears sooner or later. In time, I’d find similar trustworthy attendants for my children. Allies were important.

Lizzie shrugged. “Yes, counting the days. I won’t know for another month or maybe two. But we would love a brother or sister for Paul.”

“Not three at once, though.” I leaned back and helped myself to another muffin.

She shuddered. “I pray not. But surely it’s because Richard’s a twin—”

“And my mother was a twin, don’t forget.” Lizzie and I shared a father, but not a mother, although we had always considered ourselves full-blooded sisters. So Lizzie wasn’t in danger of twins or even triplets, not as much as I, at any rate. “You can’t catch the tendency. Considering our histories, I assumed I would have twins. I never counted on triplets. I never counted on all of them living, either.”

“Rose!” Lizzie lifted her hand from where it lay over mine to put it to her heart in a gesture of shock. Her bosom heaved under its covering of fine gauze and apple-green silk.

I waved my free hand in a dismissive gesture. “I don’t mean it to sound like that. But both Will and I were very sick. If I’d woken from my fever to hear that my tiniest baby had expired, it wouldn’t have surprised me. It would have added to my sorrows for sure, but I knew they wouldn’t have told me about him when I was so ill. I needed you then, Lizzie, someone who’d tell me the truth, but Nichols was under orders not to, and Richard and Carier wouldn’t have told me. Martha would have wanted to protect me too. So only when I was better did I trust them, and then I insisted they bring my babies to me every day. I love them, Lizzie, never doubt that.”

Lizzie bit her lip, sharp teeth digging in, before she spoke again. “I did hate them for a while, I have to admit, once I heard of the birth and how ill you were. I wish I could have come, but it was too soon after Paul’s birth and they wouldn’t let me.”

“But you wrote, and I had them read your letters to me before I was well enough to read them for myself. They brought me a lot of comfort. Thank you.”

“I’m just glad to see you better.” She picked up the plate. “Except that Richard is right. You’re too thin. Have another muffin.”

I laughed and took the last one.

It was so good to talk to my sister again. Her humour and her practical common sense countered my more romantical nature and brought me a different point of view I could trust.

Despite her ethereal, angelic beauty, Lizzie had always had a hard head on her shoulders and never allowed anyone or any event to carry her away. While I’d dreamed of knights in armour and dukes and earls, she had set her sights on a solid, productive marriage with a local member of society, or even a wealthy merchant. As events turned out, we achieved something closer to my dream than to hers. Strange how life plays tricks on us sometimes.

As I pushed the plate aside for Nichols to take, the door to my room opened to admit Richard and Carier. Lizzie turned, startled, and made to scramble off the bed, but Richard stopped her with an outstretched hand. “Please. You make a charming picture, the two of you. In fact, a painting of you both in just this pose would make a fascinating conversation piece.”