An Unpracticed Heart

Chapter Nine

Charlotte pressed her head back into the pillow, her gaze sweeping across the dark expanse of ceiling above her. Her candle had burned out some hours before, and the small fire she'd banked before bed had burned itself down to a mass of glowing embers, its brightness seemingly dependant on the air that whistled down the chimney.

She listened to the storm as it raged beyond the outer walls of the house. The rain began shortly after she retired to her room for the night, the soft drops striking against the window and lulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep. But the sound had changed an hour or so past midnight, the gentle rain replaced by a wind-driven downpour that lashed across the landscape.

On the mantelpiece above the fireplace, a small brass clock chimed two times.

She rolled onto her side, tugged at her blankets, and searched for a place on her pillow that wasn't completely flattened by her recent bout of tossing and turning. The weather kept her awake, she told herself, the howling of the wind and the incessant pounding of the rain against her windowpane. But each time she closed her eyes, her thoughts strayed far from anything that resembled sleep.

Beneath the blankets, she wrapped her fingers around her wrist. She imagined she could still feel the pressure of his hand there, the prickling of her skin as the warmth of his touch traveled over her. Had she been so sheltered all her life that the merest physical contact with a man was enough to invade her thoughts and make her lie awake in the earliest hours of the day?

A groan slid out of her as she threw back the covers and reached for her dressing gown. She shrugged into it as she fought to disentangle her legs from the sheets, her stockinged feet finding their way to the floor as she tied the gown's sash tightly around her waist. Even through her wool socks, the chill of the floor seeped into her feet and sent a shiver through her. She padded towards the fire with the intention of building it up again, but a soft tapping sound made her pause midway through her progress across the room.

It might have been a branch, perhaps, striking the side of the house as another gust of wind unleashed itself on the walls. But Charlotte moved closer to the door instead, where a distinct scratching sound met her ears.

"Hello?" she whispered, her mouth near to the crack. "Is someone there?"

"Miss Claridge?"

Charlotte grasped the knob and pulled the door open. Jenson stood in the corridor, one hand gripping the holder of a guttering candle while the other clutched at the neckline of his dressing gown. The man's eyes widened when he saw her, as if he hadn't expected to find her in her nightdress and socks at two hours past midnight, but he shook his balding head quickly and ducked his chin in a small, albeit reluctant nod.

"Miss Claridge, I..." He paused to clear his throat. "His lordship is unwell."

Charlotte's hand tightened on the doorknob. "What's wrong?"

Jenson hesitated again, and she guessed by his expression and restless movement that he was reluctant to speak about his master's personal matters with a young woman, especially a young woman in a frayed nightdress and gown, five hours before dawn. "He has fits, Miss Claridge. In his sleep, he'll often talk and cry out and sometimes... sometimes I'm unable to wake him."

"And you cannot wake him now?"

He shook his head. "No, Miss. I didn't know if perhaps you or the housekeeper—"

"We'll not disturb my aunt before we need her," Charlotte said, and followed Jenson into the corridor. "Take me to him."

She kept close to the valet, subtly urging him along when he came to an unfamiliar turn or a staircase that made him hesitate over his choice of direction. Once they arrived in Lord Cowden's bedroom, Charlotte stepped past him and approached the figure on the bed. His limbs were tangled in the covers, while his head turned from side to side on the pillow. He muttered a few words in his sleep, too low to be deciphered, and then thrashed again, as if he were attempting to strike out at someone in his dreams.