Page 24 of Much Ado about a Widow

“You mustn’t think such things, my lady. They’ll only make you feel worse.” Wiping her brow, Clara tsk-tsked under her breath. “Does that feel better?”

“No, it does not.” Georgie crossed her arms over her stomach again. “And since I am positive I cannot feel worse, I will chance the cursing all the same. Oh, dear. The pot, Clara. Quickly.”

In the moments that followed, the painful and slow death of St. Just was the sole image that gave Georgie any solace. Never would she ever forgive the man for torturing her like this. Finally, she eased herself back onto the bed, exhausted. “This must be how the medieval saints felt when put to the rack.” She breathed slowly, praying for her insides to settle. “I do believe, Clara, we might have fared better with the kidnappers after all.”

“I doubt that, my lady.” Trying to stifle a yawn, Clara took the chamber pot to the door and set it outside for Ayers to deal with. “They might just as well as not have taken you on a ship too. They took us directly to the docks, if you remember.”

“It could not possibly be worse than this.” Gingerly, Georgie turned on her side. When nothing untoward seemed imminent, she sighed slowly and sank onto the pillow. “At least they likely would not have abandoned me as Lord St. Just has done.”

“Abandoned you?” Shutting the door with a loud bang that made Georgie wince, Clara returned to her side, her face like a thundercloud about to pour down rain. “How can you say he’s abandoned you? Far from it, let me tell you. Quite a nuisance he’s made of himself, if you ask me. Knocking on the door all hours of the night, asking how you were faring. He’s been ever so helpful with suggestions for when you’re well enough to take tea and toast.”

“Ugh.” Georgie made a face and shuddered. Her stomach sent out its own loud protest. “He’s trying to kill me, although I may very well die before he accomplishes it.”

“I asked him about that, my lady, when you were so ill in the middle of the night. He assured me that this illness would pass and more quickly than you would ever believe. He said to tell you that no one ever died of seasickness.”

Glaring at the traitorous maid, Georgie swallowed down her rising gorge. The thought of any food whatsoever made her stomach clench painfully. “Perhaps I shall have to die then, just to prove him wrong.”

“I can assure you, my lady, you are not in the least dying. At least your speech seems to be rather lively for someone with one foot in this world and one in the next.” Clara stifled another tremendous yawn. “You sound much stronger than you did last night. Lord St. Just says if you’ll just take a bit of tea and toast . . .”

“Traitor,” Georgie hissed through clenched teeth. The mere words “tea and toast” made her want to retch again. “I cannot believe my own maid would plot my murder right in front of me.”

“Believe me, my lady, you’ll take more killing than this.” Clara dropped down in the chair beside the bed. “Can I do anything more for you?”

“Other than stopping the ship or putting me out of my misery, no.” Closing her eyes, Georgie concentrated on scenes of meadows with birds and butterflies amid a sea of violets. Oh, not a sea. She needed something more stationary—a carpet of violets, that would work. Carpets did not move, save when you beat them. Yes, violets. And Isaac.

Just as she was drifting off, the ship heaved up and down so violently Georgie bounced in the bed. Her eyes flew open and panic seized her; she expected to see water pouring in from somewhere. However, the cabin remained intact, thank heavens. Her innards, unfortunately, were making their presence known again.

A glance at her maid showed Clara still asleep, hand pillowed on her cheek. How the woman could sleep through such an upheaval, Georgie could not fathom. Thank goodness this sickness hadn’t affected her maid or Georgie would have been in even direr straits than now. She’d try to allow her to sleep a little while longer, though Georgie, of course, had little control over matters having to do with her stomach at the moment.

A whimper from below brought Georgie’s head up. “Lulu? Is that you?”

The little dog’s sweet tricolored face popped up at the side of her bed, her silky paws resting on the edge of the bunk, and she barked.

“Shhh.” Georgie glanced at Clara, but the maid hadn’t stirred. “Don’t wake her. She needs her rest.” Stroking the soft head she sighed. “Can you jump up here?” She patted the covers beside her. “Perhaps your company will make me feel better.”

Lulu’s head disappeared, then she sailed up onto the bed, landing directly on Georgie’s stomach. Lulu slid onto the bed where she sat panting and smiling.

“Oof.” Pain stabbed Georgie, bringing tears to her eyes. “Oh, Lulu. What have you done to me?”

A sharp knock at the door brought Clara awake with a snort. “What?” She looked around as if trying to recognize her surroundings. Her gaze found Georgie, and she jumped up. “I’m so sorry, my lady. I was so tired I must have dozed off.”

The knock was repeated, more insistently this time, followed immediately by St. Just calling, “Lady Georgina?”

Holding her aching stomach, Georgie shook her head. “Please don’t let him see me like this.”

Nodding, Clara made for the door, but before she reached the middle of the cabin, it opened revealing St. Just, bearing a tray with a bowl and a cup on it. A mischievous smile lit his face. “I see you are awake, my lady.” As if invited, he stepped briskly into the cabin.

“Oh, no, my lord.” Swiftly, Clara moved in front of him, barring further entry. “You cannot come in here.” The maid held up a finger as she paused to yawn. “It would ruin Lady Georgina’s reputation.”

St. Just eyed the sleepy woman, then trained his gaze on Georgie. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Raising her head to upbraid his insolence, Georgie caught a whiff of the hot soup he carried, and her protest turned to a groan. She clenched her teeth and screwed her eyes shut, willing her body to behave. If she cast up her accounts in front of the marquess she would die of shame. Dying might just be her best option in any case.

He set the tray on the table and turned to Clara. “I’ve dealt with seasickness before. Leave the lady’s care to me, and I’ll have her shipshape in no time.”

“I cannot do that, my lord—” The maid stopped, a huge yawn interrupting her objection.

“You’ll be asleep as soon as I leave the room, Clara. Then who will be left to tend to Lady Georgina? The dog?”