“There must be so manyotherpeople who would be interested in helping you enlarge your empire.”
“Perhaps.” He put a forkful of chicken into his mouth, and she was forced to wait until he had finished chewing, but he didn’t add any more.
“One could be forgiven for thinking you are killing two or three birds with one stone,” she said cryptically, and a slow smile spread across his face.
“Maybe,” he said.
“Are you only going to answer me in monosyllables?” She asked.
“Possibly,” he grinned at her.
“Perhaps he is only giving you one-word answers because it is not something you should worry your pretty little head about,” Ernest snapped from the bed, almost making her jump.
His eyes were open, and for the first time she could remember, they were not bloodshot.
“What is this bizarre spectacle before me? Why would you be dining at the end of my bed?”
“I came to sit with you, Your Grace, as you invited me to. But it seems Mr. Browning had the same idea at the same time.”
“So you decided to turn my bedchamber into a dining room.”
“I am all for expedience, Your Grace,” Will spread his hands.
“I need a drink,” Ernest stated.
Rose got up from her chair and went to his bedside table to fill a glass with water from the jug. “Here you are.” He did not take it. He just stared at her.
“I mean a proper drink,” he snarled.
Rose did not realize his nurse had come up behind her until she spoke.
“Now, Your Grace, you know alcohol is not allowed while you are ill,” the nurse chided.
“I am the Duke of Norfolk. I decide what happens in this house and what I am allowed,” he shouted. His nurse was unfazed.
“You might be the master of the house, but I am in charge in this bedchamber,” the nurse said sharply, “and the doctor has said no.”
“I don’t listen to doctors,” Ernest shouted again.
“Well thankfully, for the sake of your liver, I do.” She straightened the bedclothes around him more forcefully than she needed to and Rose hid a smile.
"I will get one myself then!” Ernest thundered.
The nurse stood back as he attempted to swing his legs over the side of the bed and sit up. Rose hovered as he threw back the counterpane and sheet, and his bare feet met the wooden floor. She saw him wince.
“Perhaps—” Rose started, but he silenced her with a glare as he tried to stand. Then, he suddenly yelled and slumped back on the mattress. He laid there, gulping for air for a few moments, holding his side.
The nurse did nothing to help him. Instead, she leaned over him and said, “When you can walk downstairs and seek out your own alcohol, then you will be very welcome to have some. Until then, swing your legs back into bed before you rupture something else.”
Rose watched, amazed, as Ernest complied with the nurse’s demand without further protest.
“Now, would you like something to eat?”
The nurse did not wait for him to respond as she moved across to the dressing table, removed the silver platter, then carried his plate over to the bed. She waited for him to struggle to sit up against the pillows. When Rose tried to help him, he brushed her away.
“I am not an invalid,” he snapped.
Will had finished his salad and was wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Actually, Your Grace, I would say that is exactly what you are.”