A Wealthy Widow. Anne Herries

her. ‘We may have to nurse him for some days and nights. We shall both need our sleep.’

      ‘Are you sure, my lady? Mrs Blackstone said that she would help us and she seems a good woman.’

      ‘I imagine she has enough to do looking after her customers, Iris. I shall sit with the gentleman for the time being. You may return in the morning.’

      ‘Poor gentleman,’ Iris said. ‘He has a handsome face, my lady, but he looks gaunt, as though he has been ill—before this, I mean. When the doctor undressed him, he discovered that he had a wound to his thigh. It seemed to have recovered, but the scarring was fresh. There were other wounds on his body, and the doctor thought he might have been a soldier.’

      ‘Yes, I dare say he may have been. I thought that he had suffered recently,’ Arabella said. Her thoughtful eyes moved to the man in the bed. ‘I believe he may have suffered a great deal, Iris. I saw him briefly earlier today and remarked it. You see, I think I may know him. He was a friend of my husband’s.’

      ‘Did he come for your wedding, my lady? I did wonder if I had seen him before, though I do not know his name.’

      ‘Mr Charles Hunter, if I am right. For the moment it is best if we do not speak of him by his name. It will be easier if Mrs Blackstone continues to believe him my husband.’

      ‘Yes, my lady.’ Iris bobbed a curtsy and went out, leaving Arabella alone with her patient.

      Arabella crossed to the bed, bending over him to lay a gentle hand on his brow. He seemed hot and his forehead was damp. Noticing that Iris had left a bowl of water and a cloth by the bed, she wrung the cloth out, laying it on his brow for a moment before gently wiping away the perspiration. However, in a moment or two he was sweating again, and Arabella thought that he seemed feverish.

      ‘Poor Charles,’ she murmured, feeling strangely drawn to him. She felt that he had experienced some terrible grief quite recently. She had seen it in his face earlier and it touched her, arousing her sympathy. ‘You have suffered much already and it is unkind of Fate to offer you this further blow,’ she said and stroked the damp hair back from his forehead. ‘Rest now, Charles. We shall take care of you.’

      He was so hot! She must do something to cool him.

      Arabella removed one of the heavy quilts, and then, on impulse, pulled back the sheets. His body was damp with sweat and she could feel the heat coming from him. She took the cloth Iris had been using to bathe his forehead, wringing it out in the water again and beginning to sponge his arms, chest and then his legs. She would have bathed his back, but was not sure she could turn him alone. But perhaps it would not be necessary, for at last he seemed easier. He sighed and murmured something that might have been a name, but too softly for her to hear.

      For a while after she had bathed his heated body he seemed to rest more comfortably, but after an hour or so he became hot again, throwing his arms and legs about as if he were in distress. His head moved restlessly on the pillow and Arabella soothed him as best she could, whispering words of reassurance and stroking his hair. Pity wrenched at her heart, and she felt a flicker of tenderness stir inside her. He looked so vulnerable, so needy as he lay there tossing in his fever, that she longed to comfort him. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide and he stared at her.

      ‘Sarah,’ he croaked. ‘Thank God I have found you, my dear one. Forgive me, I beg you. Forgive me…’

      ‘Charles…’ Arabella said, but his eyes had closed and she knew that he had fallen back into the unconscious state in which she had found him. ‘Please do not die. I do not want you to die.’

      Arabella did not know why his survival was so important to her. It could only be that she was transferring her longing to help Ben to his friend, almost as though by saving Charles Hunter she could atone for not being able to save her beloved husband.

      ‘You must get well,’ she whispered and stroked his forehead. ‘I shall stay with you until you are able to fend for yourself, Charles. I promise that I shall not desert you.’

      ‘Are you sure you will not give up this nonsense and come with me?’ Tilda asked the next morning. ‘I do not like to leave you here like this, Arabella—and without your carriage. I could travel in the baggage coach…’

      ‘No, indeed, I shall not put you to such torture,’ Arabella said, a smile on her lips. Her companion was not the best of travellers at any time. ‘Both vehicles may travel with you—I need only my small trunk here. My baggage may as well go with you, and the coachman will come back for me in a day or so after the horses are rested. There is no reason for you to worry at all, Tilda. I shall be quite comfortable.’

      Tilda was doubtful and had to be coaxed into the carriage, but at last it was accomplished and Arabella sighed her relief. She tried not to think it, for she did not wish to be unkind, but she would be much happier here alone. Her companion’s fretting had begun to seem tedious after two days’ travelling. She felt relieved that for a short time she need not consider anyone but her patient and herself.

      Going upstairs to her own chamber, she tidied her hair and smoothed the skirts of her serviceable gown. She had chosen one of her oldest, which was normally kept for working in her stillroom. She preferred not to dress too richly while staying at the inn, for she had now realised that she and Mr Hunter were not the only guests. She had seen another gentleman as she came downstairs that morning. By his dress he was a countryman, perhaps a merchant or a farmer of ample means, for though well turned out he did not aspire to fashion. Arabella was glad that she had allowed her hosts to believe Charles was her husband. She would not care to be thought fast in any way, which she might have had they known that she was regularly visiting the bedchamber of a stranger.

      Entering Charles’s room a little later, she saw that Iris was bending over him, trying to give him a little water from a pewter cup, and he seemed to be fighting her. When she went closer, Arabella realised that he was once again in the grip of a fever.

      ‘What are you giving him?’ she asked because she could see now that the cup contained more than water.

      ‘The doctor has been again and he left a powder to be mixed with water and administered every few hours. As you can see, my lady, the gentleman is much worse this morning than he was last night.’

      ‘Yes, he is,’ Arabella said and laid a hand on his forehead. ‘He is burning up, Iris. We must do something to help him. I think we should bathe him. Strip back the bedcovers while I bring fresh water.’

      She went over to the washstand and poured water from the jug into a bowl, bringing it back to the bedside as Iris folded back the heavy cover. Charles was naked and the girl blushed—she had only ever seen one naked man before and that was her young brother. She placed a towel over his private parts, turning to wring out her cloth and recover her composure. Arabella came to join her, a little amused that the girl had thought fit to protect his modesty. She had felt no shame in looking at his body, finding it beautiful. He had strong firm legs, and was well formed without the slightest hint of anything to spoil the perfection.

      ‘We shall do it together, Iris. You bathe that arm and I shall do this one. That way we can hold him more easily if he fights us.’

      ‘He seems quieter now,’ Iris pointed out. ‘I think it was the sound of your voice. He kept trying to push me away, but he settled when you touched him.’

      ‘Yes, he has,’ Arabella agreed. ‘I think he mistook me for someone he cares for last night. He woke for a moment, though I do not think he knew what he said, because in seconds he had gone back into his unconscious state. The fever had not gripped him so much then, but we shall do what we can ourselves to care for him; then, if he is no better in an hour or so, I shall send for the doctor again.’

      They carefully bathed most of his body in the cool water, turning him one way and then the other. Arabella stroked the red marks on his thigh where he had been wounded previously, thinking that the flesh still looked sore. She had some healing creams in her baggage, and instructed Iris to fetch the pots for her once they had dried his skin. While