Isobel, who had come to visit Cook and have a cup of tea, nodded as the matronly woman settled her large frame at the table.
“Aye, but now he’s as poorly as when they all arrived,” Cook said with a frown. “Must be one of those repeating diseases where the bad spells come and go. Like consumption.”
Even though Isobel didn’t know of any cases of consumption whose symptoms came and went, she nodded sagely in agreement.
“It’s such pity,” Mary continued. “E’s such a ’andsome strapping man. I do hope ’e recovers quickly so ’e can enjoy the rest of ’is visit, riding and ’unting with the Master. ’E does seat a horse so well,” she gushed.
Cook tsked. “If he does improve, you’d best stay out of his way. Stop peeking at him from behind your lashes. You know very well he only has eyes for one young lady here, one more appropriate to his station.”
Isobel blushed as the two women turned to her with knowing grins. “I’m afraid you overstate the case,” she said. “His lordship has not expressed an interest beyond seeing me added to the guests for dinner. He is probably just bored and desires to converse with someone nearer his own age. And he’s stopped asking for that as well, come to think of it.”
Cook scoffed. “Only because he’s too unwell to come down to dinner. Takes a tray in his room these days. His interest is as clear as day, or at least it was when he was well. Since he’s taken a turn, he’s withdrawn a bit but that’s pro’lly just because he’s ill. Must do something to a man’s pride to have his sweetheart see him brought so low.”
Isobel’s eyes widened in alarm, and she nearly choked on her tea. “I’m not his sweetheart,” she said earnestly.
“Not yet,” Mary replied in a sing-song voice before continuing to wax poetic on the width and breadth of Matteo’s shoulders.
Cook let the foolish maid go on and on, so Isobel hurriedly finished her tea before excusing herself and taking the rear stairs back up to her room.
Things were not going well if even Cook believed Matteo was her sweetheart. If all the servants were of one mind, what were the members of the household thinking? Lady Montgomery probably wasn’t concerned, but Sir Clarence and the Conte were probably irritated with her right now.
She could only hope that Matteo recovered and this visit ended quickly. She didn’t want to jeopardize her position here, and Sir Clarence did not strike her as an understanding person. In truth, if something untoward happened, she was sure the blame would rest on her.
Lost in her thoughts, she was passing the family’s private parlor on her way to the third-floor servant stairs. A loud thud inside the room startled her. Alarmed, she hurried to the doorway and saw Matteo, alone, sprawled on the floor. Instinct rushed her to his side. Hovering over him, she was torn between kneeling to help him and running for assistance.
Then he looked up.
His eyes were pitch black, a sharp contrast to his pale face. All the color he had gained in the last week was gone. His face was starkly etched with lines of pain and grief etched on either side of his mouth.
Despite her intention to remain aloof, she dropped to her knees at his side. “Let me help, you my lord.”
“No,” he said in a thin raspy voice, waving her away.
She ignored him and helped him to his seat with a firm hand. “Should I call the servants? Perhaps find the count’s footman? Or the Conte himself?”
He shook his head. “Just go,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as he put a hand to his chest and winced.
Isobel wanted to wince in empathy too as he rocked back in his seat. Her hand was rising of its own accord to stroke his brow, but the flare-up of black in his aura stopped her short. Heart pounding, she retreated a step and he looked back up at her.
“Leave!” he yelled, making her jump.
She nodded weakly and turned on her heel, nearly crashing into the Conte, who’d appeared out of nowhere. The old man shot her another one of his disapproving stares before dismissing her with an irritated wave. Forced to walk around him, she hurriedly made her way out of the room.
Chapter 5
Isobel hadn’t seen their handsome houseguest for days, but her nights were filled with troubling dreams of him.
She couldn’t forget his eyes the last time she’d seen him. Or the pain that had been obvious in his voice. Distracted and still exhausted from lack of sleep, she went down to the kitchen for another cup of tea after morning lessons.
The stable master, John, was visiting the kitchen, as well. He was still wrapped in his thick woolen coat and muffler, sipping on a large steaming cup next to the table where Mary and Sarah, Lady Montgomery’s ladies maid, were chattering like magpies.
“Did you hear? Another girl’s gone missing!” Sarah said, her wide round face flushed.
Isobel stopped short, half-way to the tea kettle.