Brie didn't reply since she knew his threat was empty. Patrick was the oldest and dearest of Homer's four grandsons, even though he was in disgrace at the moment. Patrick had been worried enough about Mattie's cough to defy his grandfather's express orders and summon the doctor, but afterward he had gone to Greenwood, hoping to gain Brie's support.
She had come at once, intending only to exert her authority. But Mattie's condition had turned out to be far more serious than even Patrick had suspected. When the doctor had ordered both elder Dawsons to bed, Brie had volunteered to look after them. It would have been wiser to send for Katherine, she knew, since her companion was far more qualified to preside over a sickroom. But Katherine's rheumatism had been bothering her again, and Brie hesitated to make her drive the three miles between Greenwood and the Lodge in such bitterly cold weather.
The situation had only become worse, though, for the snow that had been falling all afternoon had threatened to become a real blizzard. Since the small Lodge staff were all local people, Brie had allowed them to go home to their families. That had left seventeen-year-old Patrick and his three younger brothers in charge of the stables, and no one but Brie in charge of the house. Thinking of her abilities in the area of household management, Brie smiled ruefully. But at least the horses wouldn't suffer any discomfort because of the snow.
Trying to ignore Homer's grumbling, Brie made another attempt at getting Mattie to swallow the obnoxious liquid. When she succeeded, Mattie grimaced and sank weakly back against the pillows. "Pay Homer no mind, Miss Brie," she whispered hoarsely. "You're a blessed saint, just like your mother was."
Uncomfortable with such undeserved praise, Brie concentrated on pouring out more of the medicine. Being compared to her mother only made her feel guilty for the uncharitable feelings she had been harboring. Lady Suzanne had been known throughout the district for her selfless devotion to the poor and ailing. Had she still been alive. Brie knew, Lady Suzanne would have been doing exactly what Brie was doing now—only she would have done it with far better grace.
"I'll agree that Mama was sainted," Brie replied, "but I fear I'm not like her at all. Come now, Mattie, one more spoonful. You don't want your cold to develop into pneumonia."
Homer grunted. "'Twon't come to that. She just has a little somethin' in the lungs."
Nearing the end of her patience, Brie gave him a quelling glance. "It isn't a 'little something'. I may not know much about illness, but even I can tell Mattie's congestion is serious. And your condition is not much better."
Homer shrank back, but it was Brie's look, not her sharp tone, that made him regard her so warily. Her eyes, a smokey shade of blu
e-green, had a way of darkening and flashing when she was angry, as they were doing now. That peculiarity had been an advantage to her in the past. She wasn't particularly tall, nor was her slim figure very intimidating, but she had been in command of an army of grooms and ostlers since she was nineteen and had needed to use every means at her disposal in order to run the vast estate she had inherited from her father.
When Brie got her patient to swallow again, she gave Mattie a sip of water, then turned her attention to Homer. Bending down, she held out the bottle and spoon to him. "I promised to see that you took your medicine, but I don't think you need me to administer it." Homer's scowl deepened, but Brie was determined to have her way. "Come now, Homer," she said warningly. "You don't want me to resort to Katherine's method. I've seen her with sick children. She holds their noses until they open their mouths and swallow."
Her threat managed to do the trick. Homer obeyed without further argument, only muttering a little about the bitter taste of the medicine. Relieved, Brie stoppered the bottle and set it on the bedside table as she rose. After checking the hot brick at Mattie's feet, she rearranged the pillows and tucked the covers around her patient. Mattie appeared to be asleep, Brie noted thankfully. She turned the lamp down, leaving the bedchamber in a dim glow.
When she had made one last trip to the hearth to lay another log on the fire, she knew there was little more she could do. She picked up her candle and turned to Homer. "Good night," Brie whispered. "Patrick means to check on you in a few hours, but please call me if you need anything, or if Mattie gets worse."
"Very well, Miss Brie," Homer answered stiffly, still not admitting that his judgment had been in error. He let Brie walk all the way to the door before he called after her. "Patrick had best be looking after you, Miss Brie. I'll have his hide, else."
Brie smiled, realizing that despite his gruffness, Homer cared about her. "Patrick has been taking excellent care of me," she replied. "He's already kindled a fire in one of the guestrooms and brought up some water."
"'Tisn't right that you should be all alone in the house."
"It is only for one night. Julian should be here tomorrow—or the next day, if the snow delays him. With the number of servants he'll be bringing, there will be no need for me to stay. I couldn't remain here anyway with a bachelor in residence. Not without giving rise to gossip, which Greenwood doesn't need."
Homer's bristled brows drew together in a frown. "Lord Denville won't be pleased to find me and Mattie abed."
Brie suspected that worry had been the root cause of his crankiness. "Heavens, Homer! Julian isn't a monster. He knows how hard you and Mattie have worked for him, and he certainly won't begrudge you a few days rest when you are both ill. If it will ease your mind, though, I'll tell him about the struggle I had to get you to stay in bed. Now don't worry and go to sleep. There's nothing for you to do at the moment."
Brie quietly let herself out of the room and shut the door. As she made her way down the service stairs, an icy draft nearly blew out her candle, reminding her of the storm raging outside. She shivered, cupping her hand around the wavering flame to shield it. The small county of Rutland rarely saw such severe weather, for it was located near the center of England, in the heart of the hunting country. But this snowstorm seemed particularly fierce. Hearing the sound of the wind swirling around the house. Brie was glad she wasn't out in the storm, even if it meant having to spend the night virtually alone in the big house.
It was only when she had reached the next landing that she realized she had no nightgown to sleep in. Not wanting to disturb Mattie again merely to borrow one, Brie detoured through Julian's room, looking for something to wear. She found one of his dressing gowns, as well as some tooth powder and a hairbrush, but his slippers were so large that she didn't bother to take them. Gathering up the other articles, she made her way back down the icy corridor to the bedroom she had appropriated for the night.
The room was only one of several guestchambers on the second floor, for although the Lodge was a hunting box, it wasn't small by any means. The house had fifteen rooms besides the servants' quarters and large kitchen, plus a number of outbuildings that included an excellent stable. There was also a dormitory in back that housed the male staff and the servants of visiting guests.
The Lodge was frequently occupied. Although most sporting gentlemen used their hunting boxes for only a few weeks a year, Julian Blake, Lord Denviile, generally spent most of the hunting season at his, plus several months during the summer. Family concerns had kept him in London since the start of the new year, but he was expected any day now. Brie was looking forward to his return—in spite of the fact that he would also be bringing her cousin Caroline to visit her.
The room Brie had chosen served both as bedchamber and sitting room. A large canopied bed stood at one end, and at the other, flanking the fireplace, was a Sheraton chaise longue and a pair of overstuffed armchairs. The walls were paneled in walnut and lined with hunting trophies—antlers, stuffed heads, and the like—while a luxurious bear rug sprawled in front of the hearth. It was quite a comfortable chamber, Brie thought, or at least it would have been, if not for the cold. Despite the fire Patrick had lit, the room was still chilly.
Brie built the fire into a crackling blaze, then stood before the hearth to change, nearly laughing when she had donned Julian's blue brocade dressing gown. Far too large, the robe hung on her slender frame and reached several inches past her bare feet. But at least it was fairly warm. Tying the sash around her waist, she made quick use of the soap and water on the washstand to wash her face. As she pulled the pins from her auburn hair and began to brush it, she cast a deliberative glance at the bed. It was almost midnight, but she wasn't particularly sleepy and she dreaded the shock of climbing between stiff, cold sheets. When she spotted a leather-bound book lying on the bureau, she decided to read in front of the fire for a while. She had little time for such luxuries at Greenwood, for she was generally far too busy.
The book was a gothic novel, Brie realized upon seeing the title, and she wondered how it had come to be at the Lodge. She knew for a fact that Julian never read such stuff. One of his ladybirds had probably left it at the Lodge by mistake, she mused. Not that she would ever dream of pointing that out to Julian. She could just imagine what his reaction would be. He would color up to the roots of his blond hair and read her a blistering scold about how ladies weren't supposed to know about such things. Then they would argue as they always did, for Brie never let anyone scold her except Katherine or her head trainer at Greenwood. Not even Julian, who was her dearest friend and might have been her husband had she said "yes" only once to his numerous proposals of marriage. Her refusals had disappointed him, she knew. But even if Julian hadn't been more like a brother to her than a prospective husband, her one disastrous experience with love had taught her that she never wanted to marry. She never intended to give her heart to any man again.
Julian hadn't had any trouble finding someone to console him, though. Handsome, titled gentlemen usually didn't, particularly if they were rich enough to buy companionship— which Julian was. As Viscount Denville, he was wealthy in his own right, besides being heir to an earldom. He occasionally invited females to the Lodge, Brie knew. Even though Julian tried to be discreet about his ladyloves, not much happened in their small district that she didn't eventually find out about. After all, she was the largest landowner in that part of the country, as well as the possessor of one of the finest training stables in all of England.
Retrieving a blanket from the bed, Brie lit the lamp beside the chaise longue, then made herself a snug nest and settled down to read. The gothic turned out to be a blood-curdling account of a haunted castle, but she found it surprisingly absorbing. She had no idea that she had read for nearly an hour until she looked up from her book to find that the fire had dwindled to a dull glow.
When she shivered, though, it was due as much to the frightening tale she was reading as to the cold. Brie glanced n
ervously around the large room, finding it easy to imagine things lurking in shadows. Except for the crackling fire, the room seemed oddly quiet, for the wind had died down and was no longer howling eerily through the trees as it had been for hours. The dull thumping she had heard a few moments ago also had stopped. Probably a loose shutter or a limb striking the side of the house, she reflected. She would have Patrick see to it in the morning.