“—so the duke sent for a royal physician, who was the other man here, the one with the long, skinny face. Useful to have a relative who is a duke. I could use one.” Beth chatted on, her spirits rising with each minute. Minerva watched from her bed in the room lit by only one lamp. Her headache was almost gone, but Beth insisted on laying damp compresses on her brow every few minutes. She could feel the pull of the poultice on her head, somewhere on her crown above her left eye. There had been no fresh blood, even when she demanded that Beth help her to sit more upright.

She finished the last of the soup and bread and lifted the tray. “It was delicious. Thank you. Tomorrow perhaps I will eat something more substantial. I am somewhat hungry.”

“Soup wasn’t all mine. That valet finished it. ‘Where are your herbs,’ he kept asking. ‘Where is your cream? Where is your pepper?’ I left him to figure it out himself, since he is so special.”

“If Brigsby is here, where is Chase?”

Beth stood and took the tray and turned to set it on a table. She fussed with the dishes. “I expect he will be back soon. Maybe he went to talk to his cousin.”

After a very long while facing that table, Beth returned to her chair beside the bed. She reached into the bowl for a newly dampened cloth.

“No more, please.” Minerva removed the cloth still dripping water onto her nose. “I don’t think I need these anymore. In fact, I don’t think I need to be in this bed anymore.”

“Since it is night, where else would you be?”

“Doing something other than this. I am not tired at all. I slept all day. I am not an invalid. I was well shocked and very shaken, but I am recovered now.” She cast the bedclothes aside. “In the least I will sit in a chair, not this bed, and light more lamps so I can read.”

“You are to remain in bed,” Beth said, blocking her from rising with her body. “Two doctors said so. Two.”

“Oh, what do they know.”

“More than you do.”

“I’ll go mad if I have to stay here when I am not even tired. Now, stand aside so I can—”

“What do you think you are doing?”

She froze. Not Beth’s voice. Chase’s.

She looked up to see him at the doorway to her chamber, looking in. He appeared tired, disheveled, and not happy.

“Back in bed, Minerva.” He stepped in. Beth gave her a self-satisfied look and left with the tray.

“It is not necessary.”

“Bed rest. One week. The doctors were explicit.” He held up the bedclothes and gestured. She swung her legs back on the bed and punched the coverlet.

He sat in the chair. “Your restlessness is a good sign, though.”