It seemed there was no part of his life that wasn’t made worse by his debt-ridden inheritance. He couldn’t even stay and offer compassion to a tenderhearted lady grieving in ways he understood all too well. But then, if he didn’t find a meansof salvaging his situation, he’d find himself in debtors’ prison, needing compassion himself but literally being locked away from it.
“Go back and see my home one more time,” Father had begged.
I am trying tosaveyour home. I am trying.
Scott made quick work of dressing, having abandoned any claim on fashionableness when he’d been forced to let his valet go. Without a gentleman’s gentleman to assist him in dressing, his wardrobe consisted exclusively of clothing that was simple to care for and simple to take on and off by himself. It was actually a benefit in that moment; he needn’t inconvenience the household at all.
Scott ignored the objections of his empty stomach—the staff had enough to be worrying about without adding the burden of feeding a stranger they’d not been warned was coming—and fetched his traveling desk. He carried it back to the sitting room.
The bedchamber door was still closed. He would stay in the sitting room, near enough to help if Gillian needed him.
The letter he decided to write while he waited was for Toss.
Toss,
Please let the others know that Gillian and I arrived at Houghton Manor without incident. Gillian was able to visit with Mrs. Brownlow upon our arrival and has passed the entirety of the night at her side in the sickroom.
This is the point when I would usually express my hope to hear from you, but as you have already warned me how unlikely you are to ever write back, I will skip the empty platitudes and simply say that I hope Cambridge treats you well and that you are forced to undertake a course of study that requires extensive letter writing.
Yours, etc.,
Scott
He made quick but careful use of the blotting paper and had the letter set carefully inside his desk to dry when Mr. Walker stepped into the sitting room.
“Mr. Sarvol.” He dipped his head very properly. “I had not expected to find you in here.” Something in his delivery was a little curt, a little disapproving. The man had been less than warm in his reception of Gillian the day before. It seemed that was his way with everyone.
Scott knew well how to deal with difficult people. He’d lived with his uncle for months, after all. He didn’t let his annoyance show, didn’t stop to make snide comments in return. “Miss Phelps is enduring tremendous heartache at the moment. I would not be anywhere else other than here, where she can find me if she needs me.”
The butler waited for a drawn-out moment, watching him closely, assessingly. Odd. Scott did not prescribe to the ideology that servants ought to make themselves silent and scarce.Thatwas not his objection at all. This man seemed to find him decidedly lacking, despite having exchanged only a very few words with him.
The door to Mrs. Brownlow’s bedchamber opened, pulling both their attention there. Gillian stepped out. Her eyes found him first. “Scott, I’d hoped you’d still be in here.”
The butler had been shocked that he’d been in here. Scott far preferred Gillian’s pleased-but-not-surprised reaction.
“I am at your service,” he said, standing up. “Tell me what you need.”
She spotted Mr. Walker, and what little hint of happiness there had been in her weary eyes disappeared. Scott had been a bit irritated with the butler before; he was feeling rather put out with him now.
“Have you any instructions for the staff, Miss Phelps?” Mr. Walker asked.
She didn’t answer for a moment, watching the butler as if expecting something more, or something else. “I suspect the staff doesn’t need instruction from me.”
On that, Mr. Walker bowed, turned, and left. No word of farewell, no inquiry as to Mrs. Brownlow’s condition, no acknowledgment that Gillian looked exhausted. She watched the butler’s departure. Disappointment joined the sorrow already in her expression.
Scott stepped closer to her, wishing he could do more than linger nearby hoping to be useful. “How is Mrs. Brownlow?”
Gillian closed the door to the bedchamber. “She survived the night. Dr. Lowry is baffled.”
“But you are relieved, I daresay.”
Gillian smiled a little. “Only because she also seems to not be in pain. Wishing for her to prolong her suffering would be horribly unkind.”
“Not merely still with us; she is, in fact,improving?”
“Yes.” Gillian’s voice was softer, less strained than it had been the past couple of days. “When she woke a couple of hours ago, she asked for tea.”
“What does the doctor feel is her prognosis now?” Scott asked.