Harry laughed at the thought. Life never worked out that way.
Chapter 12
Athena was certain she had been poor company during her afternoon drive with Mr. Dalforth. The aching in her head that had tormented her the night before had not subsided with the morning. The ache seemed to have spread. Every joint in her body protested with the slightest movement. Her very muscles seemed determined to prevent her from doing anything more strenuous than sitting perfectly still.
She had apologized more than once to her escort for her apparent inattentiveness. She simply had seemed incapable of following even the simplest of conversations. In the end, Mr. Dalforth had returned her to Falstone House a scant twenty minutes after their departure, expressing his hope that she would rest and, perhaps, feel better for it.
Rest had not come. Athena had taken to her bed, convinced a nap was precisely what she was in need of. But her bones and head and muscles protested every position she attempted to assume. Her discomfort, coupled with a body-wide ache, had kept her turning fitfully and entirely unable to sleep.
She said very little as her maid dressed her for the evening. They would eat dinner en famille followed by the Hartleys’ ball. The new duchess was making her debut as a society hostess and it was an event not to be missed. Rumor held that the decorations were the perfect mixture of lavish and tasteful, the supper all that was fine, the musicians superb, and the very cream of society represented—some members of the ton who had retired to their country seats after the close of the Season were even returning to Town specifically to attend.
Athena had dreamed of just such an event for years. It would be a ball fit for a fairy tale. Amidst the glimmer of a ball like the one they were promised to, Athena could easily picture herself finally finding that one gentleman for whom she had been searching. She would see him across the ballroom and be unable to look away. Their eyes would meet. She would see the same spark of recognition in his eyes that would be glowing in her own. As if by some unseen force, they would be drawn together, meeting for the first time. He would ask her to dance. And the rest of their lives would simply unfold in marvelous splendor.
She ought to have been ecstatic. But Athena was dreading the evening. She couldn’t imagine feeling less like dancing. The very thought of being in a crowded ballroom, conversations ringing in her pounding head, attempting to force her tired, aching body to stand for hours on end left her longing for her bed, even if she couldn’t sleep once she was there.
Athena slowly made her way to the drawing room, silently reminding herself of the importance of her societal debut. Adam despised the social whirl. Persephone had managed to convince Adam to give Athena this one shot at making a match. She needed to use every moment to her advantage.
There is not likely to be another gentleman whose desperation allows him to overlook such things. Not all unfortunate females have the luck your sister did. Sir Hubert’s words had repeated in her memory until she had every syllable memorized. She did not want to spend her life as the spinster aunt in the Duke of Kielder’s household. She wanted a family of her own. She wanted love and belonging. But she had not been lucky thus far. It was her newfound sense of urgency that had her shoulders set and her mind determined as she stepped inside the drawing room. She could endure one evening of discomfort.
Athena stopped only a step inside the threshold. Adam was wearing his dress sword—something he only ever did when he was going out at night. And Persephone was smiling in a way she only ever did when she was anticipating an evening in her husband’s company.
Had not Adam said only the morning before that he would “rather pierce each and every one of his fingers with a flaming-hot needle” than make an appearance at an event that would be filled with “maggotty-brained, flea-infested imbeciles”? Why had he changed his mind?
“Ah, Athena,” Adam acknowledged. “I believe we are all here now. Time to eat.”
Dinner was announced the very next moment. Adam’s servants were astonishingly well trained. Persephone and Adam walked arm-in-arm from the room. Harry stepped forward and offered his arm. The now-familiar scent of him was instantly comforting. Athena felt the strangest urge to lay her head on Harry’s shoulder, to allow him to stand as her source of consolation once again. He’d buoyed her spirits on more than one occasion. Athena shook off the unexpected impulse and walked in silence toward the dining room.
“Are you feeling all right, Athena?” Harry asked quietly.
Athena nodded without enthusiasm.
“You seem a bit pale,” Harry insisted. “And, as I recall, you were not entirely well last evening.”
“I was merely tired,” Athena reminded him.
“And are you merely tired tonight, also?” He seemed to doubt her explanation.
“I believe so,” Athena answered. She glanced briefly up at Harry and found his eyes focused on her, as if searching out the reason for her pallor.
“You are certain you are not feeling unwell?” Harry pressed.
“I assure you I am never ill,” Athena replied. Growing up in a home where money was in short supply, being ill was a luxury the family could not afford. Daphne had become something of a hand at concocting all manner of home remedies to address minor cases of sickness. She knew which herbs were useful for which ailments and had saved them the fees of an apothecary on more than one occasion. A minor case of aches and lethargy was not significant enough to be more than passingly noticed.
But Harry didn’t seem satisfied. Indeed, he spent the remainder of the meal, of which Athena barely partook, watching her closely, his brow knit with what appeared to be concern. He was no less attentive during the short drive to the Hartleys’ London residence. Athena found that she rather liked being the object of such pointed consideration. Her father had hardly been aware of her existence.
“Should Sir Hubert be present this evening, promise me, Adam, I will not be forced to endure his company,” Persephone said into the silence. The tension in her voice was evidence of her continued distress at Sir Hubert’s comments. Athena’s eyes settled on Adam, hoping for reassurance.
“Sir Hubert will not be present,” Adam said authoritatively.
“I realize he is not of the highest ton,” Persephone replied, “but he might have received an invitation.”
Athena’s heart thumped in her chest, and her stomach seemed to twist, only increasing the feeling of burgeoning nausea. Suppose Sir Hubert was present? How could she endure it? Adam would see to Persephone, Athena was certain. But there was no one to look out for her.
“Sir Hubert is no longer in London,” Adam said.
“He has left Town?” Surprise summoned the words from Athena before she realized she’d spoken out loud. Athena did not make a habit of speaking openly with Adam. He was far too intimidating. “Why would he do that?”
“He didn’t, um . . . say,” Harry answered. Athena was certain she saw a look pass between Harry and Adam, and a twitch tugged at both gentlemen’s mouths, indicating they both found Harry’s comment amusing. “It seems he was in a very great hurry.”
“Did you drive him from London?” Persephone asked, her tone wary.
“He felt compelled to go,” Adam replied. The carriage was too dim for Athena to make out his expression with any clarity. But his tone was dismissive, as if it hardly mattered.
“Oh, Adam!” With no more prelude than that, Persephone essentially launched herself at Adam, her arms thrown around his neck.
Athena stared for one lingering moment, too shocked to look away. But a smile slowly spread across her face. It was precisely the sort of scene she had imagined in her dreams. Except, of course, she was the deep-in-love bride, and Adam was not the groom. To ride in a carriage in the embrace of her husband!
“Her gown will be hopelessly wrinkled,” Harry observed, quietly laughing.
“I don’t think she minds,” Athena answered, still smiling.
Athena closed her eyes, uncharacteristically tired. She ha
d grown accustomed to the late hours of the social whirl over the past few weeks. She’d never been tired before an evening began. Athena rubbed at her temples in an attempt to ease her headache. She closed her eyes, feeling every movement of the carriage.
“Athena,” Harry’s voice was even quieter than before, “you do not look at all well.”
The tiniest laugh slipped from Athena. She opened her eyes and managed to smile at Harry. “That is a horrible thing to say to a lady on her way to the most important ball of the Season.”
Harry smiled back, and Athena felt better, if only marginally. She was achy and even felt the start of a chill creeping over her. But Harry’s smile warmed her. It always did. And she was enormously grateful for his friendship. He, alone, had sensed her worries at Persephone’s wedding. He had sought her out during both her stays at Falstone Castle, befriending her. And he had offered support and guidance during her debut. What would she do without Harry?
“Here we are,” Harry announced a few moments later.
Persephone had managed to repair the minor damage her overly enthusiastic display of gratitude had done to her appearance. Adam handed Persephone down from the carriage and pulled her arm through his, keeping his other hand affectionately atop hers where it rested on his coat sleeve. Harry assumed the duty of accompanying Athena.
“There are a lot of people here,” Athena sighed, glancing around the entryway of the Duke of Hartley’s home. There was hardly an inch to spare amongst the crowd.
“That is generally what is meant by a crush, my dear,” Harry whispered into her ear. He had called her that once before. Athena knew that many gentlemen used my dear rather indiscriminately. Perhaps it was simply habit, though she wasn’t certain she’d heard him call anyone else by that particular endearment. “I have no doubt your ball next week will be accounted as much a success as this. Especially as speculation continues to build regarding the prince’s likelihood of attending.”
Athena smiled. She had seen the satisfaction in Adam’s eyes as he and Persephone had discussed the “Royal Dilemma,” as they called it.
Remaining on one’s feet when every part of one’s body protests the needed effort was an accomplishment to be applauded. Except Athena found the polite applause issued by the gathered assembly at the end of each set excruciatingly painful.
Athena walked with Harry back to the seat beside Persephone after enduring a country dance far too rousing for the state of her head. As they approached, a gentleman clad in the black and white that Brummel had made so de rigueur quite smoothly impeded their progress.
“Good evening, Mr. Windover,” he greeted Harry.
“Mr. Rigby,” Harry returned, both gentlemen offering a correct, if brief, bow.
“Would you be so good, Windover, as to introduce me to your lovely partner?” Mr. Rigby requested.
Athena’s usual feeling of fluttery anticipation did not surface, due no doubt to the all-encompassing effort required to simply remain standing and smile with any degree of believability. Rather than wondering if she were about to be introduced to the man of her dreams, Athena simply wished the introduction complete and over with so she might seek refuge in some quieter corner of the ballroom.
“Miss Lancaster, may I present Mr. Rigby of Norfolk. Mr. Rigby, allow me to make known to you Miss Lancaster, sister of Her Grace, the Duchess of Kielder.”
Athena curtsied and felt herself wobble ever so slightly, her muscles growing less cooperative as the evening wore on. Despite her earlier words to Harry, Athena was beginning to suspect she was, in fact, becoming ill.
“Might I request the honor of your next available set, Miss Lancaster?” Mr. Rigby asked.
“I had hoped to sit out the next set,” Athena admitted. “I fear I am rather fatigued at the moment.”
Mr. Rigby smiled good-naturedly. “Then allow me to keep you company, or perhaps I might fetch you a glass of lemonade, or champagne if you prefer.”
“I will track down an elusive glass of lemonade,” Harry offered. “Miss Lancaster’s seat is just over here,” he gestured to her seat within a few feet of where they stood, “beside her sister and brother-in-law.”
Mr. Rigby paled noticeably at the mention of the Duke of Kielder. Of course, Adam’s glare in their general direction couldn’t have helped. With a rigidity that any statue would envy, Mr. Rigby took Athena the remaining half-dozen steps to her awaiting chair. Adam performed the introduction to Persephone, though with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. Odd, that. Neither Harry nor Adam seemed enamored of Mr. Rigby, though they also did not seem unfond of him. Athena’s mind was far too fogged by pain, fatigue, and the approach of what she suspected was a fever, for her to make sense of any of it.
Mr. Rigby made several stilted attempts at conversation, though his eyes darted with alarming frequency to Adam. Each glance left Mr. Rigby less composed and far paler. And when Mr. Rigby asked Athena for the third time whether she was enjoying her first stay in London, Adam seemed to lose patience.
“If you cannot speak in a manner that at least remotely resembles an intelligent conversation,” Adam said, “then stick with standing mutely and save all of our ears the agony of enduring you.”
Mr. Rigby audibly cleared his throat, and though Athena was not looking at Adam, she was certain the duke rolled his eyes. For once, she agreed with her irritable brother-in-law. Mr. Rigby was beginning to grate on her already-frayed nerves. Why was it that every gentleman she had been introduced to of late proved remarkable only in the absurdity of his shortcomings? If she was being fair, she acknowledged, not every gentleman had proven flawed—only those Harry had introduced to her. She was struck again by the oddness of that realization. Perhaps when she was feeling better it would make more sense, or she would think of a reasonable explanation for what seemed to be an extraordinary number of coincidences.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lancaster.” Mr. Rigby abruptly dove into the expected exit dialogue. With a bow from the waist, he expressed his hope that they would meet again and, after a nervous glance at Adam, made a very hasty retreat.
“Coward,” Adam muttered under his breath.
“After the rumors I have heard this evening regarding your encounter with Sir Hubert,” Persephone said, “I am surprised Mr. Rigby had the fortitude to approach our party at all.”
“Fortitude?” Adam scoffed. “Idiocy, more like.”
They continued conversing, their voices growing quieter as the subject matter veered into topics they alone were interested in. Athena was grateful for the drop in volume. She dabbed with one gloved finger at her forehead, hoping to stop the beads of sweat forming there from trickling down her overheated face. She could no longer concentrate on anything beyond the need to remain upright and not simply lie down on the floor as she was tempted to do. There was no doubt in her mind that she was feverish.
Where is Harry? she wondered, searching the room with her eyes. He would see that she was ill and save her the difficulty of attempting to explain as much to Persephone. Athena felt entirely incapable of any degree of conversation. But Harry would understand. He always did. He sensed her feelings and struggles before anyone else. Indeed, she could not remember a friend who had understood her to the degree he did.
“Your lemonade.”
She had not even heard him approach. Much of the ballroom, as a matter of fact, had receded into an unrecognizable blur. Athena looked up in the direction of Harry’s voice. “I . . . do not . . . feel well,” she managed.
Words garbled all around her, though she could not make sense of any of them. Athena felt an arm wrap securely around her waist as she was assisted to her feet. She knew, on some instinctive level, that it was Harry and felt comforted despite the increasing weight of illness. He would not abandon her. He had listened to her frustrations and struggles from almost the moment they had first met. He had laughed with her, sat beside her when she was lonely.
Athena registered the smell of horses and knew she
had been led outside and was being assisted into the carriage. Harry had not left her side, and knowing he would see to her welfare, Athena allowed herself to slip into a dreamless and restless sleep.
Chapter 13
“How is she?” Harry asked the moment he encountered Persephone on the stairs as he made his way toward the Falstone House drawing room.
He had done little but worry about Athena since carrying her up those same stairs the night before. Athena had leaned heavily against him, heat emanating from her as her fever began to rise. Leaving her there so obviously ill had been painful.
Harry had repeatedly told himself that Persephone would take care of her sister. But he couldn’t help wishing he had the right to remain beside her, to see to her welfare himself. Harry was left to content himself with depending on the power of sincere and repeated prayers. What Persephone could not do, the heavens most certainly could.
“The fever continues.” Persephone sighed. Harry’s eyes were riveted to her. It was not what he wanted to hear. “The doctor assures us, however, that she is not in any danger.”
“He is certain?” Harry pressed, his fears not alleviated. “He knows what he’s about? You didn’t consult one of those imbeciles who ripped Adam’s face to shreds, did you?”
“Would Adam have permitted any of those men into his house, Harry?” Persephone gave him a look clearly commiserating his lack of intelligence, though softened by the hint of a smile that tugged at her mouth.
“Perhaps he wished to draw and quarter them,” Harry suggested with a chuckle. “Although I do believe surgeons are not in season just now.”
“No,” Persephone smiled back, “insulting baronets are the current prey.” Her humor seemed less forced than Harry would have expected, suggesting she was beginning to recover from the insults Sir Hubert had heaped upon her.
“About time you made an appearance, you maw worm.” Adam’s growl joined the conversation as he approached the landing where Harry and Persephone had paused to continue their conversation.
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