‘Then stop talking nonsense and drink this,’ she said briskly, ignoring the stab of pleasure the endearment gave her.
‘Bossy woman,’ he murmured. But he took the glass and managed to hold it himself.
By the time the clocks were striking four Sophie was beginning to feel optimistic. They had removed the wet towels, Cal was under the blankets again, dozing between mouthfuls of water and then, half an hour later, he was doubled up in pain again, had lost all the water they had got into him and was the colour of dirty snow. But at least his temperature stayed down, she thought, as Cal took the glass in both shaking hands and doggedly began to drink again.
When the clocks struck seven Sophie was ready to sleep on her feet, Hunt was looking drawn and Cal was reviving. ‘You both need to go down to breakfast. Watch my uncle and cousin. If one or both of them thinks they have poisoned me they will betray it somehow. But don’t say I have been ill.’
‘But – ’ Sophie broke off as the door opened and Michael Flynn came in balancing a tray with a cup on it.
The valet stopped dead, put down the tray and closed the door sharply behind him. ‘Why didn’t you call me?’
‘We managed,’ Cal said. ‘I need you now, fresh. Jared, Sophie, get ready for breakfast.’
Sophie looked at Hunt who shrugged. ‘He is right. If there’s anyone out there braced for Flynn to come running down yelling that Cal’s dead, we need to be there to see.’
She didn’t want to leave him, but Flynn, she knew, was trustworthy. She dragged herself back to her room, rang for Mary and concocted a story of a troubled night racked with nightmares to account for her shadowed eyes and barely-suppressed yawns. ‘I really must avoid eating cheese in the evenings,’ she said as the maid helped her into a sprig muslin morning dress and threaded a ribbon through her hair.
Jared was already at the breakfast table and Sophie took a seat on the other side and toyed with toast as the other guests arrived, sat down and began to eat and talk. Lady Peter swept in and sat down beside Sophie to drink her chocolate and her husband sat opposite. Ralph found a chair free and Jared shifted his position slightly so he was looking at him. All three of the Thornes appeared entirely normal, well-rested, relaxed – or as relaxed as Lady Peter ever allowed herself to be – and perfectly innocent of anything except, perhaps, one too many brandies the night before on Ralph’s part.
Her parents came in, her mother giving her a sharp glance and a frown that left Sophie in no doubt that she looked positively haggard. Fortunately Mama was too far away to comment.
Time to give things a prod. ‘I wonder where Calderbrook has got to,’ Sophie said. ‘He is usually amongst the first of us down.’
The be-ringed hand next to her continued to butter a roll without a tremor. When she glanced at Hunt he raised his eyebrows and gave a slight shrug. The Thorne family either had nerves of steel or they were all innocent.
And then the door opened and Cal walked in.
Chapter Eighteen - Where the Duke Draws a Blade
Sophie released the handle of her coffee cup and it rattled into the saucer, splashing the cloth around with droplets of brown liquid.
Cal looked like a man who had spent all night awake and seriously ill. His skin was pale and tight, his eyes shadowed, his walk careful. Yet no-one seemed to notice anything amiss as he sat and gestured to a footman for coffee. Conversations broke off as people said Good morning and Cal replied briefly. Perhaps they assumed he was simply badly hung-over.
‘The post has arrived, Your Grace,’ Renshaw informed Cal. ‘Your correspondence has been delivered to your study.’
‘Please distribute our guests’ letters.’ Cal glanced round. ‘We are informal here, please, feel free.’
The letter sat beside her plate, ignored, while she sipped at her fresh cup of coffee and tried to watch Cal without appearing anxious and drawing attention to him. Jared Hunt’s mouth was a tight line that she supposed was frustration and Cal was making no pretence at eating, nor, she was glad to see, drinking the strong black coffee.
‘It is drizzling this morning,’ Lady Peter observed. ‘I suggest, ladies, that we take our sewing to the Long Gallery. Perhaps some of you might care to play for us on the piano there.’
Sophie made sounds that she hoped signified interest and agreement, all the time aware of her mother’s gaze on her face and of Cal, apparently staying upright in his chair by sheer force of will alone.
She caught his eye and mouthed, ‘Go to bed,’ at him and felt herself blush as he raised one eyebrow and sent her a look that suggested she might like to join him. Perhaps he was not about to die, after all.
‘Sophie.’ She jumped, her nerves raw, and found her mother standing beside her chair.
‘Mama?’
‘What have you been doing? You look dreadful. Are you sickening for something?’
‘I had a very disturbed night, Mama, and hardly any sleep. I really cannot account for it.’ Which was true enough, she had no idea what had made Cal so ill.