The Lord and his Lady (Forbidden #2)

Chapter Nineteen

"And how're you feeling now?" asked the Duchess as they sew together in the drawing room.

"Better, my lady," she said. "I may need to eat on time."

"And more, too. You're too thin."

As luxurious as the options of food she now had were, she couldn't stomach them all. Some were too fancy for her tongues, the textures odd and unpalatable, and others were...not so nice to look at.

Last night, after Lord Caldwell had handed her over to the maids who helped her upstairs, he had retreated to the third floor and down a secluded hall, an area she hadn't gone before.

She wondered what he was doing but didn't want to impose, especially since she felt like her body had weakened; she'd gone through her bouts of nausea and fevers before, but this was like bubbles blown in her stomach which refused to pop, only growing in size. 

No food or drink would ease the pain, except for a towel dipped in hot water placed across her stomach.

"You're as stubborn as me," continued the Duchess, glaring at a stitch on the pillow she was making. "You get told to rest and you don't listen."

"I wanted to attend Sunday mass, my lady." It was a privilege, not a right she had when she was under Sir Pablo's employment; her and the other slaves had to sneak away in their makeshift huts made of hay and straw at night to pray. The Englishmen and women had sneered them both away from entering the church. 

"You know the response that we got isn't exactly an inviting one. I don't make the law here. I've told you, you are welcome to visit my room for my nightly prayers." 

"I will from now on." 

The Duchess sighed, continuing her needlework after poking her finger with it. "I just wish I had come with you to check up on you and Alastair from time to time."

That made the needle in Belinha's hand stop. "Speaking of, my lady, what did Dr. Luis say about the Duke? Is he really getting better as you hoped?"

The darkened wrinkles smoothened out as she placed her pillow on her lap and leaned forward in barely contained excitement. "He is! I swear he even squeezed my hand this morning. I was too excited to even tell anyone." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I know this is selfish of me, but my sons matter a lot to me and I don't want them raising their hopes. It's my responsibility to shield them from something like this."

Belinha wasn't sure if hiding the improvement, or if there was a lack of it, was the best way to go about it but mothers always had their own way of dealing with things.

"Besides," she continued, unbeknownst to Belinha's internal raging thoughts, "I don't know if Richard will even care. At least, he hasn't shown that he cares on the outside."

"What do you mean, my lady? Of course he cares. He's his son."

"No, I—it's a bit more complicated than that," she said, gnawing at her lower lip. "They haven't gotten along as of late. Well, before this whole accident thing even happened. And now everything is on Richard's shoulders when he never even asked for it in the first place. I can only imagine how much anger he's going through, but he won't show it."

Belinha tried to wrap her brain around this; the Duke and Lord Caldwell had a bad relationship? Maybe it was because she hadn't actually met or spoken to the Duke, but she couldn't believe it. Lord Caldwell also never seemed to show any dismay or anger towards his father. He had definitely shown disinterest or apathy, that she was sure of, but she had assumed that was because he was trying to hide his pain.

That had to have been it. What kind of son, no matter the bad relationship, would not feel anything for his father ill in bed?

She picked up the pocket square she was improving; a silky grey square sewn extra with a white lace border. A crooked white lace border. She'd never learnt to sew. Maybe she could gift this to Lord Caldwell as a gift, to encourage him that he wasn't alone...or as a thank you for helping her. She didn't have any money she could buy something more valuable with after all.