Scott moved to stand directly behind Gillian, but she rose and motioned for him to take her spot, which he did.
“Thank you . . . for bringing . . . her home.”
“It was my very real pleasure.”
“She is . . . dear to me.” Mrs. Brownlow stopped, eyes fluttering once more, slowly breathing.
“You are dear to her as well.” Scott took her hand just as he’d seen Gillian do, being careful not to cause her any pain or discomfort.
“Did she . . . was she happy . . . at the house party?”
There was a question he could answer truthfully without undermining Gillian’s hopes to reassure Mrs. Brownlow. “She was.”
“And did she . . . catch . . . anyone’s interest?”
He could hear the tense breath Gillian took nearby. This was the moment when he needed to commit himself or not to the role that she’d asked him to play. Seeing how ill Mrs. Brownlow was, he couldn’t, in good conscience, say anything that might cause her distress.
“I suspect she did,” he told Mrs. Brownlow. “The gentlemen, to a one, expressed their hope to see her in London during the Season.”
“She didn’t . . . keep too much to herself?”
“Gillian is, perhaps, quieter than the other ladies, but she was spoken of highly amongst the gentlemen.”
“And fondly?” An earnestness had entered the woman’s frail voice.
Gillian stepped into his view once more, her expression pleading.
“Quite fondly. Her conversation was engaging, and she was friendly. Those gentlemen who were fortunate enough to be her companion at dinners counted themselves quite lucky. And I was fortunate enough to hear her speak expertly and eloquently on the topic of flowers and plants and trees, and it was, I assure you, deeply interesting.”
He glanced quickly at Gillian. Her gaze was on Mrs. Brownlow, a look of uncertainty in her eyes. He’d not lied. Gillian hadn’t been at all disliked at the house party, and shehadproven a good conversationalist. Toss had sat beside her at dinner the night before and had said he regretted he would not be able to sit beside her at future meals. And Scott had, in all truth, thoroughly enjoyed listening in on her “lecture” in the walled garden.
A look of absolute relief passed over Mrs. Brownlow’s features. She believed him. And the ease it brought to her expression brought relief to Gillian’s. She had not been wrong about her benefactress’s worries and how to ease them. And Scott had managed the thing without proving, once again, a born failure.
“I . . . am pleased . . . she is finding . . . her footing.”
“She certainly seemed to have found it these past few days,” Scott said. “And we were all pleased to have her among us. Meeting you has been a pleasure as well, as I’ve heard much of you.”
Mrs. Brownlow smiled softly. “Gillian is . . . family to me.”
“So she has said.”
Mrs. Brownlow’s eyes fluttered shut once more, though she still breathed. After a moment, without opening her eyes, she said, “I have worried . . . about her.”
Scott kept the lady’s hand in his. Gillian watched with her brow drawn. They both cared so deeply what happened to the other. He was glad he had offered comfort to both of them.
“She needs to sleep,” the physician said. “Best leave her to do so.”
“I can’t leave her,” Gillian whispered. “If I promise not to prevent her from sleeping, may I please stay?”
“Of course,” the physician said.
Gillian turned to Scott, slipping her arm through his and walking him back to the door of the bedchamber. “Thank you for this. Again and again, thank you.”
“She did seem comforted.”
“She was.”
He held her gaze a moment longer. “Wereyou?”