Sherbrooke Twins

She looked down at him, her fingers itching to touch him again, but naturally she didn’t. He was no longer helpless. And so she said, “Enough about my gown. Tell me, how do you feel this beautiful morning?”

“My pillows have slipped down. I need you to raise them back up. My head hurts.”

She rose to lean over him and fluff up his pillows. She straightened and looked down at him. “Shall I also rub some rose water on your brow?”

“Yes, that would be good.”

She began humming, one of his favorite ditties actually, as she dampened her handkerchief in the water carafe and leaned over to dab his forehead. She wasn’t wearing a wicked grin now, rather a look of utter concentration. “I’m sorry that I don’t have any rose water, James. Do you think the water from the carafe is helping?”

“Keep rubbing, ah, yes, that feels very good.”

She did, a slow easy motion, one that his body recognized. “The oddest thing happened this morning, James. I was walking with my maid to visit you and I saw Mrs. Cutter and Lady Brisbett. I’d met them both last week at some sort of dance and they’d been quite charming to me. Both of them cut me, looked at me like I wasn’t there, and walked by, noses in the air. Isn’t that amazing?” She paused a moment. “Or perhaps they are both shortsighted, but I did smile and speak to them again. It was very odd, don’t you think? Not as odd as a boy wanting to kiss a girl when she’s blasted him, but still odd.”

There was a gasp from the doorway. It wasn’t Petrie nor was it his mother with more food. It was Miss Juliette Lorimer, her mother in her wake.

Juliette drew herself up, advertising her lovely goods even more prominently than Corrie did, and to, admittedly, better effect, and said in a voice cold enough to chill the lemonade, “May I inquire what is going on here?”

James said easily, “Hello, Juliette. Corrie is kindly dabbing my forehead with carafe water, since we have no rose water. My head aches.”

“You need softer hands to attend you, my lord,” said Mrs. Lorimer. “Juliette, here is my handkerchief. You caress his lordship’s forehead. Miss Tybourne-Barrett should not even be in here. She is alone, unlike you, who is with your mother. It is not at all the done thing. I should probably give Maybella a hint.”

Corrie said, an eyebrow hoisted up, “Why ever not, ma’am? I have been nearly one of the family all my life.”

“That makes no difference at all, missy, and so you should know it. You need to go home now. That’s right, it’s time for you to leave.”

“But what about James’s headache?”

“Be quiet, Corrie,” he said, and closed his eyes against the battlefield that was now gathering ca

“James,” said Juliette, her voice sweet and clear, all of her being focused on him, “you are looking splendid. I swear you look nearly ready to dance. I am so relieved. I was so dreadfully worried when you disappeared. No one could explain it. Then, of course someone remarked that Miss Tybourne-Barrett had also disappeared. It wasn’t remarked upon nearly as much as your disappearance, needless to say, and what a strange thing it was to have the two of you return to London together.”

A deep male throat cleared at the doorway. The earl of Northcliffe himself said, “Ladies, I am here to invite all of you down for tea and some of Cook’s excellent lemon seed cakes. Corrie, you will join us after you’ve finished bathing James’s forehead. Ladies?”

Saved by his father.

There was no choice. Juliette looked longingly back at James, whose eyes were closed at the moment, gave Corrie a stare to scorch her eyebrows, then turned to follow the earl from the bedchamber.

“She’s right, Corrie,” he said, eyes closed.

“That your disappearance was more remarked upon than mine? Well, that’s surely a fact. Who would begin to care about me other than Aunt Maybella and Uncle Simon? It’s quite likely that Uncle Simon wouldn’t even notice unless he wanted me to hold down a leaf so he could glue it.”

That was quite true, and it made James very angry, for some reason he didn’t want to examine.

“He told me this morning that he’d found an unidentifiable leaf lying there unremarked by the side of one of the paths in Hyde Park. He was quite excited about it, determined to locate the plant from which it had detached itself, and he could enjoy his excitement without remark from Aunt Maybella since I was again home safe and sound.

“Naturally Jason missed me. And perhaps Willicombe. How I wish Buxted was here. You remember Buxted, our butler at Twyley Grange, don’t you, James?”

“Naturally. I’ve known him since I was born.”

“Buxted was always helping me slip in and out, never gave me a scolding. He did caution me about London, though to the best of my knowledge he’s never been here.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He said that wickedness was all fine and good within the confines of the country, but you stir wickedness in a pot the size of London, and the good Lord’s eyes near cross, Buxted was right, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, look at you. You’re all upset. Now, don’t move, James, keep yourself relaxed and your eyes closed. Is your headache better?”

He sighed deeply. “Did your aunt and uncle speak to you yesterday or this morning?”

“Certainly. Aunt Maybella wanted every detail and Uncle Simon appeared to be listening, at least most of the time. They were still thrashing it about this morning until I was ready to scream. That’s when I told them I had to come to see you.” She paused a moment, frowning over at the pillow next to James’s head.

“What?”

“Well, Uncle Simon started shaking his head at me-just shake, shake, shake-but he didn’t say anything until I was nearly ready to leave. Then he looked at me, shook his head again, and said, ‘Hunted down like a rat. Ha!’ And then he laughed a bit, and looked bemused, something he does quite well. He always looks so handsome when he does it that even if Aunt Maybella is eager to smack him, she immediately wants to stroke him. Isn’t that odd? Do you wish more water? Tea? The chamber pot?”

“Corrie.”

She paused, looked down into his eyes. “Yes?”

He simply looked at her for a long moment, then said, his voice slow and deep, “My father told me you were an heiress.”

It flew right over her head. “Heiress? What does that mean, James? Oh, I understand. My parents left me a bit of money to ensure that I would make a respectable marriage. That was kind of them.”

“It’s far more than a bit. You’re an heiress, Corrie, and maybe one of the richest young ladies in England. Your father was evidently astute with his finances, and you were his only child. Your Uncle Simon has guarded your fortune well.”

“That would be because he simply forgot about it,” she said, not really attending him now, just looking down at the lovely Turkish carpet on the floor beside his bed. James saw understanding hit her square between the eyes, saw the narrowed eyes, seamed lips, and then the explosion. She jumped off the bed, her hands on her hips, a nice touch. Her voice was all the more angry for its calmness, he’d always admired the way she could do that. “I would like to know, James Sherbrooke, how your father knew about this fortune of mine and yet I, the person to whom this supposed fortune belongs, didn’t know a single blessed thing? And why the devil would he tell you of all people? You have nothing to do with anything!” Her voice rose a bit, for emphasis. “This is absurd, James, why I believe it makes me quite angry. If I’m a bloody heiress then why didn’t Uncle Simon bother to inform me?” She stamped her foot. He’d never seen her do that before.

Now it was his turn to goad her. “Just look at you, stamping your foot like a child denied a treat. Grow up, Corrie. Young ladies don’t need to know about finances. It is not a subject that conforms to their abilities.”