The Earl of Brass (IMD #1)

Chapter Fourteen: Death Warmed Over

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Death Warmed Over

            Mounting the steps to the uppermost floor of her cousin’s house, Hadley Fenice’s stomach knotted and flipped though she wasn’t quite sure what exactly was bothering her. Her mind played out the day’s activities to pinpoint what could have caused such a gnawing in her stomach. She had eaten a hearty breakfast and then walked to the market. Nothing there was out of the ordinary. In the afternoon, she had baked a Bramley apple crumble, which was out of the ordinary but not so taxing as to unsettle her stomach. She had nervously checked the oven every ten minutes to ensure that it hadn’t burnt, but it still didn’t explain the tension.

            Was it fear that crept up her esophagus and down her arm, manifesting as a curious tremor that made the crumbs dance off the dessert’s surface? Hadley told herself that it wasn’t, but being at her cousin’s house reminded her too much of visiting George at the sanatorium. In the months since his death, she had enjoyed the luxury of a life free from the weighted worry of sickness and death, but now, she was forced to confront it again. It had been her idea to visit Lord Sorrell after his surgery. It seemed the proper thing to do since her invention was what caused him to go under the knife. At the top of the steps, she checked her reflection in the mirror, restlessly tidying her hair and blue walking-dress. The frock was the same one she wore to the Harbuckles’, but this time she hoped it would see a better outcome. The door to the guest bedroom stood open, and as she stepped inside with a measured smile, ready to present the viscount with her little cake, her heart plummeted to her stomach with a thump that rattled her hand again.

            Eilian Sorrell was thoroughly unconscious when she reached his bedside. His shoulders were propped up with several pillows while his head listed limply to the side. Hadley drew in a tremulous breath as she compared her memory of his face from only a few days before when he visited her studio to the death mask he was wearing now. His eyes were daubed with sooty circles as if he had gotten in a fight while his ashen skin glistened with perspiration. Beneath the quilt, his chest heaved, occasionally pushing little sighs of air from between his lips. She remembered how he gave the impression of being tall, even powerful, but today he had been reduced to a bird with a broken wing. Every muscle that was visible, including his exposed chest, which peeked out from beneath the blankets, appeared gaunter and more drawn than she remembered. Hadley was about to back out when she jerked back in alarm at the firm hand that came to rest on her shoulder. Her cousin smiled at her before peering past her into the guest room.

            “He looks good, doesn’t he?”

            “Does he?” Hadley replied, taking another look to ensure he had not suddenly perked up when she wasn’t looking. “He looks frightfully pale to me.”

            “Everyone looks that way after surgery. You do not have to stand in the doorway like that, you are allowed in.”

            She stared at the sleeping man in the bed again and swallowed hard. “I— I do not want to intrude while he is sleeping. I will just leave him the cake and come back later.”

            Eliza Hawthorne gently pressed her younger cousin’s arm as she led her inside. “Nonsense, stay a little.” She whispered, “He does not bite. His butler left to get some supplies and set up the house for when he returns home, and trust me, he will enjoy the company when he is awake.”