Truly a Wife (Free Fellows League 4)

Daniel nodded. “I’m hungry. It seems like days since I’ve eaten.” He paused. “I missed the milkmaids and the bakers, but the pieman’s down below. Didn’t you hear him?”

“No, I didn’t.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was nearly half past seven. The St. Germaine town house sat in the middle of the block on Upper Brook Street, behind Park Lane, and the dairy maids generally reached the streets surrounding it at seven, followed by the bakers, piemen, and fruit vendors around eight o’clock in the morning. Miranda supposed it took them a bit longer to reach Curzon Street. Still, she hadn’t heard the noise outside the house because she’d been crying in the kitchen.

“Well,” Daniel drawled, “would you like a pie?”

Miranda nodded.

Daniel held out four fingers. “Two apple and two cherry.” He turned back to Miranda. “Have we anything to drink? Tea? Coffee?” He shuddered. “Lemonade?”

“I don’t think so,” she answered. “And at any rate, I don’t know how to brew coffee or tea or make lemonade.”

“Tsk, tsk.” Daniel made a clucking sound with his tongue. “I’m a duke,” he reminded her, “and I know how to brew tea and coffee. And you, a m

ere marchioness … I thought all women of lesser title knew how to brew tea and coffee.”

“We know how to pour tea and coffee,” she corrected. “And how to ask suitors to fetch lemonade. We employ servants who brew it.”

“Not at the moment.” Daniel turned to the window and ordered three coffees from the pieman—two strong and black and the other with cream and sugar. “And luckily, since we’re in London, we won’t have to wait for servants to come and do it. All we need are a few pennies …”

Miranda took the hint. Collecting her reticule from the drawer of the night table, she reached inside for a shilling and handed it to Daniel.

“Thanks.” Daniel took the shilling and flipped it out the window to the pieman. “He’s leaving the basket on the front steps. I’ll go down and collect it,” he said, as he turned to Miranda. “It is Thursday, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’d better hurry. I’ve an important meeting at eight.” Glancing around for his clothes, Daniel discovered his jacket, waistcoat, and trousers lying in a heap in a puddle on the bedroom rug along with what looked to be a gentleman’s nightshirt and a pair of mint green dancing slippers.

Puzzled by the fact that Miranda’s green dancing slippers were beneath the pile of wet garments he identified as mostly belonging to him, Daniel bent at the waist to retrieve them. But the morning’s exertion caught up with him. His knees went weak as his legs refused to support his weight. He became lightheaded, and his face lost all color. Clutching the green ribbons in his fist, Daniel grabbed for the window ledge, missed, and fell to his knees.

“Daniel!” Miranda caught him as he hit the floor.

He offered her the ribbons and the ruined slippers attached to them. “These are yours, I believe.”

Miranda tossed the slippers aside.

“You may need those,” Daniel informed her in a weak voice. “To go downstairs and collect our breakfast from the front steps.” He looked up at her. “I’d be a gentleman and go, but my garments are all wet. And at any road, I don’t believe I could manage just yet.” He looked at her, amazement etched on his features. “Suddenly I’m as weak as a kitten.”

“It’s no wonder,” she said. “You lost a lot of blood last night, and you haven’t had time or the nourishment to regain your strength.” She noticed the beads of perspiration forming on his upper lip and placed her palm against his forehead.

His fever had returned.

And it was his own fault, Miranda thought uncharitably. The stubborn man hadn’t stayed in bed but had insisted on opening the window and ordering breakfast.

“I bled on your ball gown,” Daniel suddenly remembered.

“No matter,” Miranda told him. “I’ve plenty of other dresses.”

“You don’t seem to be wearing one,” he commented dryly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “And neither are you.”

“My meeting is very important,” he told her. “I must be there.”

“Important enough to risk having someone discover you’re injured?” she asked. “Because that’s what you’ll be doing if you try to go there. And even if you had the strength to manage, I cannot see you walking into your meeting wearing a pink bed sheet and bandages, and that’s all I have to offer until Ned returns.”

“When will that be?”

Miranda shrugged. “I’ve no idea,” she admitted. “He should have already returned, but he’s obviously been detained. Most likely my mother needed Ned and the coach for errands.”