Which meant she was going to be mortified.
“—and I do appreciate your efforts to preserve my modesty, but did you not see, ah, me when you were caring for me earlier this week?”
“Not like this,” she mumbled.
Again, a little pause, and this time she could picture his brow coming together in a furrow as he considered her answer.
“I kept you covered with the sheet,” she finally said.
“At all times?”
“I was highly motivated.”
He let out a chuckle at that.
“I think I’ll go back downstairs,” she said, edging her way back to the door. “I had only wanted to make sure you weren’t catching a chill.”
“In June?”
“You’ve been ill,” she said primly.
He sighed. “I still am.”
Cecilia pressed her lips together, summoning her courage. He was right, and his health was more important than her tender sensibilities. She took a breath. “Do you need assistance getting out of the tub?”
“No,” he said quietly. “At least I hope not.”
“Perhaps I should stay.” She moved a little closer to the door. “Just while you get out. In case you need me.”
She hoped he didn’t. It was not a large towel.
A moment later she heard a heave of exertion, followed by the sound of water sloshing against the side of the tub.
“Are you—”
“I’m fine,” he bit off.
“I’m sorry.” She shouldn’t have asked. He was proud. But she had been nursing him for days; it was difficult to stop, even if she was desperately trying to keep her eyes to herself.
“It’s not your fault.”
She nodded, even though she had no idea if he was looking at her.
“You can turn around now.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m covered,” he said, sounding perhaps just a bit fed up with her prudishness.
“Thank you.” She turned around. Slowly, though. She wasn’t sure how he defined covered.
He was on the bed, propped up against the pillows with the blankets pulled over his lap. His chest was bare. It was no more than she’d seen when she’d sponged down his fever in hospital, but it seemed very different when his eyes were open and alert.
“You look better,” she said. It was true. He’d washed his hair, and his skin had a healthier glow.
He gave a tired smile, and touched his beard. “I did not shave.”
“That’s all right,” she assured him. “There is no rush.”
“I don’t think I’ll feel properly clean until I do.”
“Oh. Well . . .” Cecilia knew she should offer to shave him. It was clearly the one task she could perform for him that would make the greatest difference to his comfort, but it was such an intimate gesture. The only man she had ever shaved was her father. He’d not had a valet, and when his hands had grown arthritic she had taken over the task.
“You don’t have to,” Edward said.
“No, no, I can do it.” She was being silly and missish. She’d crossed the Atlantic Ocean by herself. She’d stood toe-to-toe with Colonel Zachary Stubbs of His Majesty’s Army and lied to his face in order to save a man’s life. Surely she could shave that man’s beard.
“I should probably inquire if you have ever shaved a man before,” Edward murmured.
She stifled a smile as she glanced around the room for the razor and brush. “It does seem like a prudent question before allowing me to take a knife to your throat.”
He chuckled. “There is a small leather box in my trunk. You will find what you need there.”
Right. His trunk. Edward’s belongings had been kept safe for him while he was missing; Colonel Stubbs had arranged to have them sent over to the Devil’s Head earlier that day.
Cecilia peered into the trunk, at the neatly folded clothing, the books, the papers. It seemed terribly intimate to be going through his belongings. What did a man bring with him to a strange land? She supposed it should not seem such an odd question to her. After all, she had also packed for a voyage across the ocean. But unlike Edward, she had never intended to stay long. She had brought only the barest of essentials; memories of home had not been a priority. In fact, the sole memento she had packed was a miniature of her brother, and that was only because she thought it might help to locate him once she reached North America.
She huffed to herself. She had thought she might need help finding Thomas within a hospital. Little did she know she’d be searching an entire colony.
“Do you see it?” Edward asked.
“Ehrm, no,” she murmured, setting aside a soft white linen shirt. It was well-worn and had clearly been washed many times, but she knew enough of stitchery to see that it had been exceedingly well-made. Thomas had not had such fine shirts. Had his held up as well as Edward’s? She tried to picture her brother mending his clothes and failed miserably. She had always done such things for him. She’d complained, but she’d done it.
What she wouldn’t give to do such things again.
“Cecilia?”
“I’m sorry.” She spied the corner of a leather box and wrapped her hand around it. “My mind was wandering.”
“Somewhere interesting, I hope.”
She turned to face him. “I was thinking of my brother.”
Edward’s face grew solemn. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
“I should have liked to have helped him pack his trunk,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder at Edward. He did not reply, but he gave a little nod, the sort that said he understood.
“He did not come home before he left for North America,” Cecilia continued. “I don’t know that he had anyone to help him.” She looked up. “Did you?”
“My mother,” Edward confirmed. “She insisted. But I was able to make a visit home before I sailed. Crake House is not far from the coast. The journey is under two hours on a swift mount.”
Cecilia nodded sadly. Edward and Thomas’s regiment had departed for the New World from the bustling port of Chatham, in Kent. It had been much too far from Derbyshire for Thomas to consider a trip home.
“Thomas came home with me a few times,” Edward said.
“He did?” Cecilia was surprised by how happy this made her. Thomas’s accounts of his barracks were somewhat grim. She was glad that he’d had the chance to spend some time in a proper home, with a proper family. She glanced over at Edward and with a little smile and a shake of her head said, “He never mentioned it.”
“And here I thought the two of you told each other everything.”
“Not everything,” Cecilia said, mostly to herself. She certainly had not written to Thomas about how much she enjoyed hearing from Edward in his letters to her. If she had had the chance to sit with her brother, to talk with him face-to-face, would she have told him that she was a little bit in love with his best friend?