After he left, silence fell. Helena supposed she should go upstairs and dress. If she meant to waylay the doctor and wheedle a visit to the sickroom, she’d rather not be wearing her nightdress.
Caro came in, looking tired. “Is that tea?”
Helena rose to pour. “What news?”
“He’s in and out of consciousness. The doctor says the fever is taking its course.”
The teapot rattled against the cup as Helena’s hand shook. “What the devil does that mean?”
Caro accepted the tea with a weary smile. “That the fever is taking its course, I expect. Oh, lovely. Ham sandwiches. Ridiculous to be hungry in the middle of the night, but I am.”
“To Hades with your hunger,” Helena exploded. “West could be dying up there.”
Caro eyed her with disapproval. “He’s come through before.”
Fenella sipped her tea. “Hel, for heaven’s sake, take a deep breath and sit down. It won’t do anyone a morsel of good if you go to pieces.”
Helena slumped onto the sofa and brushed the heavy fall of hair back from her face. “I’m making rather a fool of myself, aren’t I?”
“We all go a little mad when we’re in love.” Fen’s voice was gentle. “It’s nice to see you’re not immune.”
“In love?” she asked, shocked. Then so many things that in her panic had gone unnoticed crashed down on her like a huge wave. Her tone hardened. “You know. You both know.”
“That you and West are head over heels? Of course we do,” Fen said comfortably.
Of course they did.
When she’d battered at their bedroom door, neither Caro nor Silas had evinced a shred of surprise that Helena was the one who knew West was ill. Nor for that matter, had Fen or Anthony.
And Silas had headed toward her room without asking where West was.
She frowned. “How did you know we’d reached an…understanding?”
Which was a mealy-mouthed way to describe their transcendent hours together. She didn’t pursue the head over heels remark. Her feelings were too confused right now for her to mount a suitable defense.
Caro rolled her eyes. “Where do I start? I know we’re both distracted, but we’re not blind. You and West were so busy, trying not to look at each other. I saw the marks on your neck the other morning, despite that stylish high collar. And the two of you came in yesterday afternoon looking distinctly heavy-eyed, you naughty pair. Not to mention that for the last few days, your acid wit has verged on sweet. Not a sarcastic remark to be heard.”
Helena shifted uncomfortably. “How revolting.”
“I think it’s lovely,” Fenella said.
“You would,” Caro said, casting her an unimpressed glance.
Helena spread her hands. “Why didn’t you say something? Fen’s the soul of delicacy, but discretion isn’t your way.”
Caro was unoffended. “Because if we did, you’d dig in your heels, and do your best to ruin everything out of sheer contrariness.”
Helena scowled at her closest friends. “You make me sound blindly obstinate.”
“When you’re always the soul of reason,” Caro said, taking a fair stab at sarcasm herself.
“So now your secret’s out, what do you plan to do?” Fen asked. “Has he proposed?”
“You’ve got marriage on the brain. West and I are taking a few days to scratch a mutual itch, then we go back to being mostly polite strangers.”
“If you say so,” Fen said.
“Really,” Helena said.