“Mrs. Wing, I see you’re going to be marvelous at this,” Linnet said with a happy smile.

“I like to get things done,” Mrs. Wing said. “I see what needs to be done, and I do it. Luckily, my husband is never bothered by anything. If both of us went haring off every time we see something wrong, we couldn’t get on!” She broke into laughter.

“I will speak to Mrs. Havelock, the housekeeper for the west wing,” Linnet said. “Perhaps you might pay a visit in a week or two, after Gavan is stronger on his feet?”

Mrs. Wing nodded. “That I will.” She looked at Gavan. “I suppose he shouldn’t be rolling around down there in case it hurts his leg?”

“He doesn’t seem to be in any pain,” Linnet said. “He’s a dear boy.”

“And you are a dear lady,” Mrs. Wing said, turning toward her, and taking her hand. “I can’t tell you how this has soothed me. You being there, miss, and giving him Rufus, and making it so I can pay the doctor back with some quilting.”

“Linnet,” she said impulsively, squeezing Mrs. Wing’s hand back. “My name is Linnet.”

Mrs. Wing chuckled. “Diana,” she said. “It’s a strange name, something to do with a goddess who was likely no better than she should be. I reckon you’ll be learning to quilt as well, won’t you?”

Linnet’s smile dimmed. “I’m afraid I’m just visiting, and I’m not likely to be here in two weeks, so I’ll miss the quilting.”

“Now that’s a shame,” Diana said. “A real shame. Well, if you fix it with Mrs. Havelock and warn the doctor, I’ll manage all right.”

“Don’t let him frighten you,” Linnet said. “He’s more bark than bite.”

“No one will stop me helping those women,” Diana said. She laughed again. “Gavan, you hopeless boy, get up.”

“I need my cane,” Gavan said. He managed to get to his feet with its help. “See, miss? See? I’m just like the doctor now, aren’t I?”

He stood there leaning on his cane, grinning in the sun with his hair over his eyes. Linnet couldn’t help laughing. “You look like a doctor already, Gavan.”

“That’s ’cause I’m going to be one,” he said with satisfaction. “The best one ever.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Evening, the next day

Two more patients admitted to the east wing with that fever,” Sébastien said.

“Which fever?” Piers asked.

“The one that you think is petechial and I don’t. I couldn’t find you this morning when I wanted you to take a look.”

Piers had pulled Linnet into an empty bedchamber after breakfast, and when she’d fallen asleep, he lay with her on the bed for an hour, boneless and satisfied, slowly stroking her shoulders. He had heard his name called, and had ignored it.

He was thinking about his father. Linnet, his father, Prufrock, his mother, Sébastien. His father again. Linnet.

“I’ll look at them after the meal,” he promised. They walked into the drawing room. Kibbles and Penders were at the sideboard, hovering over the wine decanter. Linnet was sitting next to his mother, while his father sat opposite with that hungry look in his eyes again.

“Where’s Bitts?”

“He was rather peaked and admitted to not feeling well. I sent him upstairs.”

Piers met Sébastien’s eyes. “Ill?”

“Headache, no fever.” He shrugged. “Probably not hospital fever, but it’s best not to have him in the west wing until we’re sure. Let alone around your family.”

His family. A cold shiver went down his spine.

“I’ve seen that look before,” Sébastien said in a mocking voice. “Yes, I will have a glass, thank you, Prufrock.”

“What do you mean, you’ve seen that look before?” Piers asked.

“The face that launched a thousand . . . scowls,” Sébastien said, obviously enjoying himself. “I mean that you’re thinking about doing something that will hurt yourself in the long run. Seen it before, and I see it now.”

“You think you’ve suddenly developed the ability to diagnose me, of all people? You can’t even manage a simple fever.”

“I know that you have an affinity for unhappiness,” Sébastien said, tipping his glass to his lips. “In fact, paradoxically, you don’t feel truly happy unless you are unhappy. The way to do that is to push away the people who give a damn about your nasty hide. Me, for one—except that I’m impossible to dislodge, so you seem to have given up on me. Your parents.” He turned and raised his glass in the direction of Linnet. “Your utterly beautiful fiancée.”

“Beauty is not everything,” Piers said.

“Linnet has everything else a man could desire as well,” Sébastien said. He put his glass down on the sideboard. “You and I, we’ve always been together.”

“Just break it to me gently, will you? You’re running off with a dairymaid.”

“No. No.”

Piers followed his gaze. “You’re running off with Linnet.” Every muscle in his body went rigid. She was his. His, and no one else’s. His.

“If she’d have me, I’d run anywhere with her. Or after her.” Sébastien turned back to Piers. “I’ve always run faster than you, Piers. And I’m a better surgeon. And a better lover, though it’s crass to point it out.”

“I’ve never bothered to love anyone,” Piers said. Linnet was laughing. Diamonds shone in her ears, twinkled at her throat. She looked like a fairy princess, someone created by a magic wand.

“That’s true enough. You never bothered. And you’re not bothering now, are you? Even though your father wrapped her up like a present and dropped her in your lap.”

Piers flinched, and Sébastien let out a crack of laughter. “So that’s why. You can’t contemplate Linnet because your father chose her. And you’re too busy hating your father for his past sins to admit that he found the right woman for you.”

Piers reached out and grabbed Sébastien by his pale pink neckcloth and twisted him closer. “My leg hurts like a son of a bitch,” he said, between clenched teeth.

His cousin didn’t move, just stared into his eyes. “You and your leg can keep each other company at night, then. No room for a woman, given the terrible injury you suffered.”

Piers let go of his cousin’s neckcloth. Sébastien was right, even though he meant it sarcastically.

He had to stop making love to Linnet. Now. There wasn’t any place in his life for her. Not when he knew well that there would be days, even weeks, when the only thing he could feel or think about would be the agony in his leg.

Those were the days when he lost his temper at the drop of a pin, when he shouted at Prufrock and all the rest of them if they so much as twitched. When the pain in his leg spread to his head and he ended up in a darkened room, shivering.

“You’re right,” he said. “Of course, you’re right.”

Sébastien, still angry, looked at him narrowly. “It’s not like you to concede. So, if you recognize how stupid you’re being to reject Linnet, why don’t you go over there and woo her?”