“He has not yet been able to say. Things could go in either direction. But there is hope.” She smiled once more. Hers was a lovely smile. “Your sister married a vicar. Perhaps her husband would be willing to pray for us. Asking for asecondmiracle would be a stretch for those of us with a less direct line of communication with the heavens.”
With a light laugh, he said, “I will ask him to see what he can arrange.”
Her smile remained, something he’d not seen happen before. Even at Brier Hill, she’d often tucked away outward expressions of happiness, as if she found them a threat of some kind.
“You almost make me regret my near refusal to speak with you when you first arrived at the house party,” she said.
“Almost?”
“Well, youwerea stranger. A person can be forgiven for not chatting endlessly with a stranger.”
Scott shrugged. “I know someone whokisseda stranger. Of course, he then had to marry her.”
Gillian’s eyes pulled wide.
Scott waved off her obvious shock. “Worked out grand in the end.”
With the tiniest hint of mischief in her eyes, Gillian asked, “You don’t intend to kiss me, do you?”
“Would you like me to?”
She actually laughed. Of course, the laugh was all but silent, but it was a laugh just the same. And it warmed him to his heart.
The door to Mrs. Brownlow’s bedchamber opened once more, and the housekeeper peered into the sitting room. “Mrs. Brownlow is awake. She is asking for you.” Gillian took a single step in that direction before Mrs. Millard spoke again. “I meant, she is asking for youandMr. Sarvol.”
He received a look of apology from Gillian, which he hadn’t expected. Did she think he would find Mrs. Brownlow’s recovery an inconvenience? He held his hand out to her. Gillian smiled and accepted the offering.
They walked together into the dim bedchamber. The drapes had been pulled back a little. It might have been the influence of greater light or the result of her unexpected recovery; whatever the reason, Mrs. Brownlow looked remarkably improved.
“Mr. Sarvol,” she said from her bed. “I had hoped . . . Mrs. Millard would . . . find you quickly.”
He crossed to her bedside and sat in the chair pulled up directly beside it. He released Gillian’s hand and took Mrs.Brownlow’s. “I have heard rumors that you are feeling much better this morning.”
“I started those rumors.” Mrs. Brownlow’s voice was still quiet, and there was most certainly an undeniable fragility to it, but she didn’t seem to struggle as much to speak.
“You have the good doctor entirely baffled. I think he has begun to realize that once word spreads of your rumored recovery, everyone will expect him to perform miracles.”
“I don’t know if he should . . . thank me or wish me to hades.” Yet another sentence she’d completed nearly whole. She was still weak, though, and not yet out of danger.
“Should he wish you to hades,” Scott said, “he will have to answer to me.”
Mrs. Brownlow’s eyes smiled a bit, though she didn’t seem to yet have the strength to pull a matching expression to her lips. “I like you even more than I did last evening.” She breathed slowly and with a little difficulty. “It is a very fine thing . . . for Gillian that she’s met someone like you.” Another breath. “Tell me more about yourself.”
“I am quite good at parlor games.” He looked at Gillian, standing beside his chair. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“You proved yourself adequate.” Such an entertainingly dry delivery.
“I believe you are American,” Mrs. Brownlow said. Unlike many people who made that realization, she didn’t seem to disapprove.
“I was born in Nottinghamshire to an English father and an American mother. We visited regularly, as the family seat is there, but we made our home in America, where my mother prefers to be.”
“Do you still make your home there?”
He shook his head. “My father passed away many years ago, and my uncle, his only brother, passed away two years ago.From him, I inherited the family estate, and I now live in Nottinghamshire.”
“And attend house parties in Cumberland,” Mrs. Brownlow added, her eyes growing a bit heavy.
“When I am fortunate enough to be included.”