medical supplies. The footman helped, and the coachman was nowhere to be seen. She grabbed the carriage door and half closed it, blocking the opening with her body. Lord St. Raven convulsed on the floor, his head knocking against the seat in a macabre, uneven rhythm.
Henrietta forced herself to keep looking, to watch even though her palms dripped and her heart wrenched in her chest. She had seen this before. The strange contortions, the stretched grimacing of the face.
In an asylum in France. When she was sixteen.
Epilepsy.
Finally the fit ended. St. Raven’s body relaxed, though guttural noises were coming from him. She wanted to go in and check to make sure his head had not been injured, but the valet was bringing her medical bag. She closed the door more, shoving the earl’s boots inside the carriage to do so.
“Your supplies, miss.”
“Thank you. The earl does not feel well and is lying on the floor. I shall need something soft, a blanket perhaps. Fetch Alice, please, as I will need to go in and examine his lordship.” It seemed forever, but finally the female servant Lady Brandewyne had sent to protect Henrietta’s reputation arrived. She’d ridden with the trunks in the other carriage. She wore a put-out expression that Henrietta ignored.
“If you will just stand right there.” She pointed to the side of the carriage, where it could be reasonably said that Henrietta had been chaperoned, and yet Alice would not be able to see the earl. She opened the door and climbed in, shoving her skirts to the side and hefting her bag onto the seats.
A bluish cast to his face told her he’d stopped breathing at some point, though now the forceful exhalations of sound indicated steady respiration. She put her ear to his chest. No distress. Perspiration stained his underarms.
Henrietta examined him quickly, gently putting the blanket the valet brought beneath his head. She kept the door slightly closed, leaving a mere crack, and waved away the worried eyes of his staff. When she emerged, she shut the door firmly behind her.
They stood at the side of the road, the bright sunlight drawing attention to their somber faces. After all, it had only been a few weeks ago that he’d been attacked. Their worry attested to their regard for their employer.
“Does he have these episodes often?” She set her bag on the ground and studied them, particularly the valet.
“Episodes? What do you mean, ma’am?”
Every face reflected confusion. Sighing, Henrietta tapped her hips as she thought of what to say. She didn’t care for the ratlike curiosity in Alice’s beady eyes. A gossiper, no doubt. She suspected his lordship’s condition was a secret that even his valet was not privy to.
Or else he was doing a splendid job of acting ignorant.
Either way, Henrietta had no desire to reveal St. Raven’s infirmity to this group. She cleared her throat. “Tiredness and fatigue. Perhaps it is a side effect of his cracked ribs. Let us take a short break and then be on our way. I shall ride with Alice and we will leave the earl to rest.”
“Will he be all right?” That from Jacks.
Henrietta nodded with force. Yes, he would be fine as long as no one in English society ever found out about his epilepsy.
She did not know much of the condition, but one thing she did know: those with it were often ostracized from polite society and confined to an asylum for the remainder of their lives.
How he had managed to escape detection, she could not fathom, but she would not be the one to expose his secret.
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