A strange man opened the door to our summons, and I realized that this must be Donovan, Will’s other manservant, the one with medical training.
He certainly was brawny, as Lucy had alluded to, with short-cropped brown hair. His plain lawn shirt stretched tautly across his shoulders and chest, and I could see the outline of his biceps through the material. Even his forearms, clearly visible at the edges of his rolled sleeves, were well-defined. He eyed us neutrally, though I knew he must have been at least a little curious as to why we were there.
“We’re here to see Lord Dalmay,” Gage told him.
Donovan took Gage’s failure to elaborate in good stride and stepped back to allow us entry. I hoped Michael had warned him we might be stopping by and that he wasn’t always so unconcerned about the visitors William received.
“He’s through there,” he said with a nod toward the bedchamber door, which stood ajar. He paused to examine us one moment longer before striding across the room. “M’lord, ye have visitors,” he called through the doorway.
I tried to ignore the pounding of my heart as I allowed Gage to guide me across the parlor and into the bedchamber. All that had been toppled and tousled the night before had been put to rights. The drapes covering the room’s tall windows had been thrown open to allow in the morning light, illuminating all the dark corners and crevices that had been cast in shadow a dozen hours before. In fact, only the crude sketches covering two of the walls, which I tried to ignore, and the haggard appearance of the room’s occupant hinted that anything unsettling had ever happened at all.
Will sat in a sturdy chair positioned before the window. The sunlight shining through the glass haloed his honey-brown hair and allowed me to see that it was now liberally dusted with silver. Unfortunately the bright light did nothing to soften the harsh lines of his gaunt face or to hide the dark circles around his eyes that gave them a sunken, bruised quality. He was dressed like any country gentleman, minus the frock coat, in a pale waistcoat and buff trousers; however, the clothing hung awkwardly on his too-thin body. They were not ill fitting—I could tell they had been tailored for him—he simply did not have the flesh and muscle to fill them out. A half-full glass of beige liquid stood on the table at his elbow next to a book left unheeded.
When we entered the room, he seemed as if he had been lost in thought, his face turned toward the window and his chin propped on his fist, and it took him a moment to return to the present. A subtle wash of pleasure spread across his features at the sight of us. It was a small display of emotion, but in so sharp a contrast to the blankness of his features and the dimness in his eyes the night before that it made something tight inside my chest loosen.
“Kiera. Mr. Gage.” His voice had the same husky quality as before, but it was much less strained. He shifted forward as if to rise, but I waved him back down.
“I may be an invalid,” he scolded, ignoring my motion, “but I can still rise when a lady enters the room.” The soft light in his eyes removed any of the sting from his words, but I flushed regardless.
He reached out to me slowly. All of his movements seemed sluggish and blurred, as if each action took great thought and effort. His hands trembled in my grasp as he pulled me closer, trailing his gaze over my face with keen intensity, as if he was starved for the sight of me, of anyone familiar. “It’s wonderful to see you,” he murmured.
I blushed brighter. “You, too.”
And it was. Last night had been a shock. Today, with the bright sun chasing away the shadows, and some of the light returned to Will’s eyes, it felt more like I was welcoming home a long-lost friend. I could embrace the joy, the sweetness of it, and feel some pleasure in his presence, even with my lingering worries over his health and the state of his mind, not to mention the concerns Michael had shared with us earlier in his study.
Releasing me, he stretched out a hand toward Gage. If his greeting was not particularly warm, it also held no rancor. Gage responded in kind, though I could also read the watchfulness in his gaze. He was suspicious, and more than a little curious about our interaction. And, if I was interpreting him correctly, even a bit displeased by it. I didn’t know whether I felt annoyed or flattered. Perhaps a little of both.