Edge just wished the man would speak quickly. Gaunt’s delicateness grated and only served to remind him how close he’d been to death.
‘There’s a woman who wishes to see you. That—we are sure of.’ Gaunt’s hands were clasped.
Edge pushed himself to sit against the headboard, ignoring the pain, then he put his feet on the floor and stood. The sulphur-scented poultice Gaunt had tried to suffocate him with still lay by the wash basin. He pointed to it and with a sharp jerk of his hand indicated it should be removed.
Gaunt snatched up the cloth by two fingers and held it at his side, away from his body.
‘The housekeeper is with the guest now. The butler insisted,’ Gaunt explained.
The housekeeper never saw to guests and for the butler to have someone stay with a visitor was unheard of.
‘We thought it best,’ Gaunt added, ‘that the woman not be left alone. But we could not exactly escort her out as she claims to have news of a friend of yours from the country who has passed on to a greater reward.’
‘Claims?’
‘She does know your relative’s name.’ Gaunt’s face remained immobile as he spoke.
Edge strode to the basin, splashing water on his face. The burns had left him weak, but not feeble minded. And Gaunt knew the family tree far better than Edge himself did. On one occasion he’d even helped Edge sort out just how a cousin came to be related.
‘Why was she not asked to leave a card and sent on her way?’
‘I will dismiss her.’ His pause had a cough in it. ‘She’s dressed in black. Head to toe. Face covered. Handkerchief. Sobbed pitifully. I thought it best you decide. Something about her is...familiar.’
‘I’ll see to her,’ Edge said, wondering if the illness had affected his mind.
‘No carriage with her,’ Gaunt added. ‘Not even a hackney.’
‘Maid?’
‘She’s alone.’
Edge shook his head. This sounded like a jest his cousin Foxworthy would try. Sending some lightskirt on a mission of seduction and then waiting outside with a group of friends who’d wagered on how long before the woman left. Fox had done something similar in the past—more than once—but he should know better than to try such a thing on Edge.
Edge would give Fox a chance to gauge his own recovery skills.
* * *
When Edge stepped into the sitting room, the housekeeper’s eyes darted from the sombre handkerchief-clasping form to him.
Pausing to think back to the mourning attire he’d seen, he didn’t remember seeing anyone dressed so completely in black, although the veil over the bonnet did have a bit of yellow ribbon peeking through.
The woman’s clothing wasn’t dashed together and had no frayed edges or worn seams, and yet he didn’t think it entirely new. She held a wadded handkerchief in each hand and moved the one in her right clasp beneath the veil to daub at her face.
‘Someone has passed from this life?’ he asked the grim form.
‘Yes. Might I speak with you about it privately?’ The soft, velvety smooth words fluttered the veil. A lightskirt’s voice if he’d ever heard one. Foxworthy would pay.
At Edge’s side, the housekeeper’s arms tightened.
‘No,’ he answered.
Her fingers reached up, grasping an edge of the veil to lift it. But she paused.
‘Tell me your news,’ he said. ‘I would hate to keep a grieving person about on an errand when she could be finding solace in her home with loved ones around her.’
He heard her exhale and her arms tightened.
She stood, one sweeping movement. ‘Your Grace, I regret to inform you that your mother’s fifth cousin, Lady Cumberson, has passed on.’
Edge remained motionless, sorting out something, but he couldn’t quite place it. Lady Cumberson had died some months back. Then he let out a breath. ‘Lady Cumberson passed on? For a moment I had forgotten her. A dear, sweet woman. About so high.’ He moved his arm out to his side, indicating just below his shoulder. ‘Sainted woman. Grey hair.’
Lady Cumberson had stood taller than any woman he’d ever seen, had a vulgar sense of humour and coal-black hair.
‘No. Quite stately. Dark hair. And I suppose you could call her a saint, but I didn’t see her that way.’
He paused, recognising the voice. He forced himself not to react.
Lily? Lily Hightower? Fox would never dare send her. He had nothing to do with women like Lily. And when did Lily get such a sultry voice?
‘Could you spare a moment to tell me about her last days?’ he asked, turning to dismiss the housekeeper. The older woman scurried out.
‘What is going on causing you to attempt a masquerade?’ Edge asked.
She raised her veil just enough so that he could see a chin, a well-shaped mouth that caused him to take note and then two brown eyes peered out from under the edge of the veil. He swallowed.
‘I can’t visit you openly without my father knowing. I can’t wait until your mother returns from the country so I can pretend to visit her and hope you might walk by and we might chance a few moments to talk privately...’ She shook her head as if trying to remove unsure thoughts. ‘I suppose I didn’t think anyone else could help. And I had no idea what to do if you didn’t recover—soon.’
‘Thank you for your concern about my health.’
‘Of course.’ The words burst out. Her voice tightened and she lowered the veil over her face. ‘I heard of your accident—goodness, another one—but then the next thing I knew you were back in London, brought home in a wagon, and we didn’t know if you were going to live or die. My family would have been so distraught if you’d...’
‘Your...family...would have been distraught?’ He managed to inflect the words with just enough emphasis to point the question her way.
‘Of course, all of us would have been.’
The veil popped up again. The handkerchief bundled so that she could use two fingers to raise the covering and the dark eyes studied him. Then the fabric fluttered down again. ‘I feared for the worst, but then your mother took me to your bedside.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘You looked... But you recovered quickly after that.’
He waved her words away. ‘I only had two choices and I thought this one the best.’
‘It was horrible to see you so ill.’
A fogged memory of hearing his mother begging him not to die on his birthday surfaced, but he batted it away. Dwelling on those thoughts would do him no good.
‘Your
