Page 23 of The Favourite

“I am not sure,” she admitted. “The only thing I know about mistresses is that they are left to die alone.”

He opened both eyes at that. “She was not alone if you were there at the end,” he said finally.

“Maybe so, but I have no sisters left to attend my deathbed,” she answered quietly.

“Perhaps not, but you have a daughter now according to royal proclamation. I believe daughters are usually dutifully present at such events.”

“Celestia,” Jane said aloud.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That is … our daughter’s name,” she finished awkwardly. She ought to get used to addressing her as such, she supposed.

“Celestia?” He pulled a face. “Celestia de Balon. Well, maybe she will grow into the name. Have you seen her?”

Jane shook her head. “Helen was so perilously ill … it did not seem a good time.”

“Are you cold, Jane?” he asked suddenly. “Come over here and I will warm you up.”

Jane glanced at him doubtfully. There was not much room left on the bench with the way he was sprawled out. “The only way I could get closer would be if I crawled into your lap.”

“I have no objection.”

Jane flushed. Perhaps he was starting now to treat her as a common doxy. “You are pleased to jest, my lord,” she said stiffly.

“Certainly not. I never jest about my own comfort. Perhaps I should have phrased it this way. I am devilish cold. Please bring your delectable self over here.”

Jane huffed but inched a little closer. “There is not much room to maneuver—” she started and promptly found herself seized and rearranged so that she was practically draped atop him. Once she could breathe again, she blinked down at him in astonishment. He had lifted her with such ease that she felt almost winded. “My lord—” she protested feebly.

“Alisander,” he corrected her. “Now pull up the blankets to trap in the heat generated by our bodies.” Unsure what else to do, Jane reached out and started bundling the blankets around them. “That is better,” he sighed and closed his eyes again.

“Are you really managing to sleep?” she asked after a moment’s disbelief.

“Yes, now lower your head and you may indulge in the luxury also.”

Jane gazed down at him a moment, conflicted. But after all, if she stayed like this for the rest of the journey, she would get a very stiff neck. Given little choice, she lowered her head to his chest and shut her eyes tight.

When next she woke, it was with a gasp, for the carriage had come to a stop and she could hear shouting outside. “Wha—?”

“What is it?” Alisander called out from underneath her. “Why have we stopped?”

“A wagon across the road, my lord,” the servant called back. “They are asking for our aid.”

Alisander’s reply was swift. “Do not stir a step till I am there! Let me out.” This was addressed to Jane, even though he had already set her body aside and was hastily re-tucking the blankets about her. “Do not move from this carriage,” he added, drawing on his cloak. “Unless I say so.”

Jane nodded and he disappeared out into the night. For the next few minutes, Jane listened to the muffled shouts and groans and guessed that all must be putting their shoulder to the wrecked wagon. She was glad there was another stout servant in the wagon behind them to lend a hand. She did not think her husband would be much use when it came to brute strength, for all she had realized his slim frame was deceptive.

When the minutes dragged on, Jane found herself growing restless. She drew the curtain aside to peer out at the murky woodland scene. Her startled eyes made out the shape of a man laid on the ground in a heap and another man holding a bloodied cloth to his head.

“Help me drag him to the side,” her husband said, casually addressing his servant, and Jane watched Wat helped him heft the fallen man and prop him against a nearby tree trunk.

His servant turned to him, as though asking him something, and Jane surmised the fallen man must be insensible. She saw her husband shake his head but could not make out his reply. Instead, he turned and spoke to the fellow with the bleeding pate, and the three of them returned to the wagon and set about removing it from the road. By the time he returned to the carriage, Jane’s curiosity was burning. She waited only while he removed his sodden cloak.

“What about that poor man?” she asked. He paused and shot her a keen look. “I saw you drag him from the wreck.”

“His friends will soon be back for him; I have no doubt.”

“Did they run to fetch help?”