‘Yes. How is Miss Richards’s father?’
‘Thank you, Scottie,’ interrupted a voice—her voice. ‘I believe I shall help his lordship finish his breakfast.’
The footman had just settled into a chair by the bed to help Cedric, but he leapt up like a frog the moment he heard Lucy’s voice.
‘M-miss Richards! I didn’t realise you were… I mean, I thought you were—’
‘Scottie, would you please get me some toast as well? I see the honey pot is here. That’s wonderful.’
‘And tea, Miss Richards. I’ll get you a fresh pot—’
‘Oh, I suppose. Phoebe has declared that I’m to drink something special, as well. Bring up whatever she says.’
‘Yes, Miss Richards. Right away, miss.’ He gave her a quick bow and all but clicked his heels together before dashing out the door. Cedric stared after the man, feeling unaccountably annoyed with the boy.
‘Was he escaping my question,’ he asked. ‘Or trying to please you?’
‘Both, I assume,’ she said as she settled into the chair beside him. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘How is your father?’
‘His cough overcame him nearly a year ago.’ Her voice was soft and composed, and Cedric’s stomach sank as much from her expression as her words.
‘A year?’ he whispered. Her father had passed a year ago and he hadn’t known.
‘His cough got worse after the wedding. I thought that summer would help but…’ She shook her head.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I had hoped…’ He thought back over everything he’d done in the last year. ‘Everywhere we stopped,’ he murmured. ‘Every port, I looked for medicines and a way to send it back.’ It was where much of his money had gone. It was why his investors made money, but not him. Because he spent his portion. But her father hadn’t received any of them. ‘Too late.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘It was kind of you.’
‘It was useless.’ He closed his eyes, but his fingers reached for her hand and squeezed. ‘I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved him.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I should have been here. I would have gone to the services with you. I would have…’ He shook his head. ‘No. I would have just made things worse. We always fight. You needed comfort, not…’ Him. She wouldn’t have wanted him there.
‘We always fight?’ she asked.
He opened his eyes. ‘Don’t we?’
She didn’t answer at first. Instead, her eyes grew pensive, and then she shrugged. ‘Sounds like you’re fighting with yourself. I’ve barely said a word.’
He stared at her, his mind hopping around in confusion. Was she chastising him? Accusing him? Or just stating a fact? He didn’t know, and all his guesses were turning his brain to mush.
‘Lucy…’ He said softly.
‘I gave those medicines—the seeds and the formulas—to Phoebe. She has an interest in these things.’
Phoebe? The blonde?
‘She is working with a doctor.’ Her expression softened. ‘That tea may have saved your life.’
He frowned as he looked at her. ‘I meant them for your father.’
‘And they may save many lives here in England.’
He hoped so. He certainly couldn’t argue that he felt better today than he had in a long time. And yet he didn’t really care about the medicine. He wanted to know how she fared. ‘Have you met someone, Lucy? Do you have an understanding with anyone?’