Jason stared back. The idea that the entire ton was privy to what he had hitherto believed a deep personal secret left him staggered. Foundering in a morass of relief, consternation and uncertainty, he voiced the first thought that entered his head. “Lenore doesn’t love me. We did not marry for love.”
“You may not have—who said you had?” Agatha opened her eyes wide. “I remember your reasons for marriage quite clearly—you needn’t repeat them. But what do you imagine that’s got to do with it?” When Jason made no response but, instead, looked set to slide back into melancholy absorption, she added
, “And as for Lenore’s not loving you—you know nothing about the matter. Well—we all know what rakes are like—and let’s face it, dear boy, you’re one of the leaders of the pack. Never do know anything of love. Blind, you know. Rakes always are, even when it hits them in the face.”
Jason recovered enough to bestow a warning glance.
Agatha was unimpressed. “You aren’t going to try to tell me that you don’t love her, are you?”
Jason coloured.
“Ah ha! And I’m just as right about Lenore—you’ll see. Or you would, if you’d only do something about it.”
“That, my dear aunt, I think I can safely promise.” Feeling that he had allowed his aunt to lead the conversation long enough, Jason straightened in his chair. Agatha frowned, as if recalling some caveat to her deductions.
Glancing up, Agatha found her nephew’s grey gaze fixed on her face. “Tell me,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Did you, by any foolish chance, tell Lenore why you wanted to wed her—your ‘reasons for marriage’?”
“Of course, I did.”
“Merciful heavens!” Agatha declared in disgust. “By all the gods, Jason, I’d have thought you could do better than that. An approach, no better than the veriest whipster.”
Jason stiffened.
“Positively useless!” Agatha continued. “No wonder Lenore has been so set on this charade of hers—with no cost counted. She thinks to please you, to give you want you said you wanted—a marriage of convenience—no!—a marriage of reason.” Her tone scathing, her expression no less so, Agatha gathered her muff and fixed her errant nephew with a stern glare. “Well, Eversleigh! A nice mull you’ve made of it. Your wife’s been endangering her health and that of your heir just to give you the satisfaction of knowing your duchess is accepted by all the best people. I just hope you’re satisfied.” Imperiously, Agatha rose. “I suggest, now that I’ve shown you the error of your ways, you take immediate steps to rectify the situation.”
Her message delivered, in a most satisfying way, for she had rarely had the pleasure of seeing her intimidating nephew so vulnerable, Agatha bestowed a curt nod upon him and left him to his task. Feeling justifiably pleased with her morning’s work, she swept out.
Left to mull over her words, Jason was unsure whether he stood on his head or his heels. Luckily, the numbing sensation did not last, blown away by sheer relief and heady elation. Lenore was still his. Feeling oddly humble, he silently vowed he would take nothing for granted with respect to his wife henceforth. Dragging in what seemed like his first truly relaxed breath in a week, he stood and strode determinedly to the door.
It was time and past he had a long talk with his wife.
Upstairs, Lenore had just staggered from her bed. Unaware of any impending danger, she was engaged in her customary occupation on first rising—contemplating the roses about the rim of the basin left in readiness on a side-table. She had long ago ceased to fight the nausea that engulfed her as soon as she came upright and took two steps. It was a thing to be endured. So she clung to her bowl and shut reality from her mind, waiting for the attack to pass.
Feeling her legs weaken and her knees tremble, she grasped the bowl more firmly and sank to the carpeted floor. In acute misery, she tried to think of other things as spasm after spasm shook her.
The click of the door-latch penetrated her blanket about her senses. Trencher, no doubt, with her washing water. Lenore remained silent on the floor. She had no secrets from Trencher.
His hand on the door knob, Jason surveyed his wife’s room. He had knocked gently but had heard no response. Puzzled, his glance swept the rumpled bed, the drawn curtains. Perhaps she was in the small chamber beyond? Frowning, he took a step into the room and closed the door behind him.
Turning, his vision adjusting to the dimmer light, he looked across to the door that led into Lenore’s bathing chamber. And saw her bare feet and the hem of her nightgown on the floor beyond the bed.
“Lenore!”
His exclamation shook Lenore firmly into reality. She lifted her head, barely able to believe her senses. But the heavy footsteps approaching the bed did not belong to Trencher.
“Go away!” The effort to imbue her words with a reasonable amount of purpose brought on another bout of retching.
Jason reached her, his expression grim. “I’m here and I’m staying.” Appalled to see her so pale and weak, he sank on to the floor beside her, drawing the long strands of her hair back from her face, letting her slump against him as the paroxysm passed.
Lenore longed to argue but his presence was more comforting than she would have believed possible. His warmth struck through her thin gown, easing her tensed muscles. His hands about her shoulders imparted a strength of which she was sorely in need.
For the next few minutes, Jason said nothing, concentrating on supporting his wife, his hands moving gently, soothingly, over her shoulders and back.
Then the door opened and Trencher came hurrying in. Seeing him, she came to an abrupt halt, only just managing not to slosh the water in the ewer she carried on to the floor.
One look at her face was enough to tell Jason that his wife’s maid was well aware of his ignorance of Lenore’s indisposition. His eyes narrowed.
Recovering, Trencher came hurrying forward to place the ewer on the washstand. “Oh, Your Grace! Here, I’ll take care of her.”