Page 23 of Once Upon a Midnight Dream

Lilly cast him a surprised glance. “Yes, but how did you…?”

“She has been sneaking about for months, Lill.” His gaze held sympathy. “You have just been too busy and too trusting to notice. I did not feel it was my place to inform you as long as the children were not neglected, that is.”

“They have been neglected. Today, I caught three unsupervised boys having a potato war. Which makes me derelict in my duties as the home’s headmistress and director.” She stiffened her spine and jabbed her finger toward her chamber door. “Trust me when I say, I shall not make the same mistake with him. He will stay confined in my chamber until I am certain he is not a threat.”

Eight

Lily’s bedchamber at Kelston Hall

Half of nine that evening

A sharp rap upon the bedchamber door drew the man’s attention from the dated news sheet just as the key ground in the lock. Grateful to have the use of his hands, sans their bandages, he had wasted no time in scouring several dated editions of The Times that Miss Granger had sent up with his dinner.

In truth, he had anticipated reading a snippet of something that would trigger his memory.

However, reports on the continued political pressure over Catholic emancipation as well as economic growth and industrial advancements did not spark so much as a tiny flame of recollection. Neither did the death of prominent figures or the fanfare about the upper ten thousands’ social rounds.

The day had passed into evening with no additional insight into who he was, and it frustrated the devil out of him.

Was he a miscreant?

A bounder and a scoundrel?

He did not feel like a cad, but did crooks have consciences?

Did they know they were corrupt to their black souls?

Miss Granger toed the door open, then shoved it wide with her shoulder as she carried a lap tray into the bedchamber.

At once, his pulse quickened, and just as quickly, he subdued his carnal interest.

He was infirm—had practically died, in truth—and she was a prim and proper school director, for God’s sake.

“Good evening.”

She offered a half-smile, as if she was uncertain of her welcome.

Raising a mocking eyebrow in greeting, and with a slight rustle, he folded the papers before placing them on the night table.

“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

It startled him to realize it was, indeed, a pleasure to see her.

But then again, confined to a bed in a locked chamber, he was eager to see anyone. At least, he no longer wore the ridiculous ruffled nightgown.

“I have brought you a few things to help you sleep.” She set the tray on the commode. “Warm milk, chamomile tea, and slices of buttered bread topped with strawberry jam.”

He detested chamomile tea.

I do?

Probably not worth mentioning, so she could add it to her sleuthing list about him.

He would far prefer a dram or two of whisky or cognac. That would send him into the arms of Morpheus quite nicely, thank you. However, he rather doubted there was a drop of liquor in the entire house unless it was a bottle of cooking sherry.

Regardless, during his convalescence, he had lost a good deal of weight. Earlier, during their Piquet game, Charles recommended he eat several small meals until his stomach could handle larger quantities of food.

“I would drink the milk before it cools too much,” Miss Granger advised. “The tea is quite hot still. I took the liberty of adding honey.”