Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

An involuntary smile crept over his face.

*

“You look different, you do,” Billy offered as Myriah tried feeding him some gruel, only to have it pushed away.

“I look different because, my odious friend, I have changed my clothing and brushed my hair.”

“Well, it’s about time,” said her patient.

Her blue-green eyes glared. “Oooh, but I think you deserve this gruel!” She made another attempt to put the spoon of the warm meal to his lips.

“Damnation, girl!” the young man said with as much authority as he could muster under the circumstances. “’Tis food I need—not gruel.”

“And food is what you shall get once you have shown me you can hold the gruel down.”

“I am in Hell, and you are a she-devil!”

“Really, Mr. Wimborne, earlier

this morning you declared me an angel!”

“I was delirious, for you ain’t an angel but a wicked she-devil bent on having her own way. Knew it the moment I laid eyes on your flaming hair!” retorted Mr. Wimborne.

“Aha! Not only are you an adventurer, you are an ingrate as well!” Myriah teased, pleased to see him in such spirits.

He smiled feebly, but fatigue prevented him from further repartee, and he settled back against his pillows.

Myriah observed this and refrained from teasing him. Instead, she said softly, “Come then … have a spoonful.”

He groaned but did in fact allow himself to be fed, making an awful face as he swallowed the food.

Tabson appeared with a tray and set it on a nearby table before eyeing his mistress.

“Thank you, Tabby.” She knew what he wanted—he wanted to leave and hurry to her grandfather’s and avoid any further trouble. He had already lectured her earlier that morning. She, however, had other ideas.

She tried to ply her patient with another spoon, but he waved a hand at her. “Go away!”

She put the bowl down on the nightstand and propped up his pillows. He eyed her suspiciously. “What are you doing now?”

“Making you more comfortable so you will finish your gruel.”

“No,” said her patient.

“No?” She eyed him warningly. She brought another spoon to his mouth and was surprised when he took it without a fight. “That’s it, Mr. Wimborne … that’s the ticket.”

“Billy to you … after all, you cannot be shoving that slovenly mush into m’mouth and calling me, Mr. Wimborne!” He smiled broadly. “’Tis ridiculous, and I’ll not call you anything but she-devil.”

She wedged another spoonful into the poor man’s mouth and grinned. “My name, sir, is Myriah—Myriah White.” She felt a twinge of guilt; she didn’t want to fib to him, but she had to keep up the pretense.

“Myriah, you know, suits you. You look like a Myriah.”

She smiled, thinking he was giving her a compliment, and then he threw in, “’Tis but another name for she-devil after all!”

She laughed and shoved another spoonful into his open mouth. However, that was the last he would take, and he pointed to her tray of food. “What do you have?”

She sighed and went to her own platter of sirloin and roast potatoes. He watched her pick at her meal and muttered something incoherent. Myriah laughed and brought her platter to the bed, whereupon the two shared the single meal. Each seemed quite pleased with the other, and Myriah left him resting peacefully, promising to return with tea and biscuits later in the day.

Below stairs, curiosity drew her to an open door just off the central hall, and she entered cautiously to find a well-stocked library. However, what captured her attention was the far wall, which was covered with portraits. They appeared to be family portraits. She lit a candle since the room was shrouded in the darkness of the day. It was drizzling outside, and although the library housed a wonderful panoramic window, there wasn’t much light to be had.