Moira hugged Rowena and looked about the comfortable sitting room. She’d been amazed to discover that Robert owned a house near Edinburgh, so close to her cottage. And such a house, too. You are always a surprise, Robert. In so many ways.

Rowena’s gaze was on the drive, where the carriage had stopped. “Who is that?”

Moira looked to see a small, plump woman exit the carriage, assisted by a tall, distinguished man. “That’s your father’s sister, Mary, and her husband, Angus.”

Rowena watched the woman hurry up the steps, her husband’s broad strides easily keeping pace. “Do you think my father will be glad to see her?”

Moira rather doubted it. If there was one thing Robert detested, it was being fussed over.

Moments later, the couple were escorted into the sitting room. “My dear!” Mary came to take Moira’s hands. “I came as soon as I could. How is he?”

“The doctor said the situation is grave. He’s with Robert now.”

“I shall go up and see—”

“His valet won’t allow anyone in his room. Robert snaps whenever anyone tries to bypass Buffon. The doctor said it was dangerous to let Robert be upset, so it is best to stay away.”

Mary turned. “Did you hear that?”

Her husband nodded. “Some people don’t wish to be disturbed when they feel ill, Mary.”

“But someone must make certain he is well. He could be dying, and—”

“No,” Rowena said firmly.

Mary pressed a hand to her chest. “Goodness, you startled me! I didn’t see you there.” Mary blinked. “Oh my. You look just like—”

“Her father,” Moira interjected.

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Mary cleared her throat. “I can see I’ve rushed in and made a muddle of this.”

“Excuse me,” came Buffon’s voice from the doorway.

All eyes turned to him, and he bowed. “Mr. Hurst would like to see his wife.”

“Wife?”

Moira suppressed a wince. “That would be me.”

Mary plopped her fists onto her hips. “Robert never tells me a thing!”

Her husband took her elbow. “Come, my love, let’s meet our new niece. Her mother will be busy for a while.” Though obviously reluctant, Mary allowed Angus to take her to sit down near Rowena, where they began to talk.

Moira followed Buffon to Robert’s door, where Doctor MacPherson met her.

“He’s better?”

The doctor beamed tiredly. “Yes. Last night I wouldn’t have given you a farthing for his chances. But he made a turn in the middle of the night when the fever broke. He’s not out of the woods yet, but he has a good chance now.”

Moira bit her lip to keep from weeping. “Thank you.”

“I’ll leave him in Buffon’s hands. The man is a capable nurse.”

Buffon bowed, then opened the door. “Madame?”

Moira expected to find the curtains drawn and the room dark. Instead, sunlight streamed through the room, casting a bar of warmth across the large bed.

Robert sat propped up by pillows in his red silk robe, his face cleanly shaved, his hair neat.