Dr. Winters stopped by that afternoon and declared Marcus well on his way to recovery. His fever had cleared entirely, his leg was mending splendidly, and even his sprained ankle—which they’d all quite forgotten about—no longer showed signs of swelling.

With Marcus’s life no longer in danger, Lady Winstead announced that she and Honoria would be packing their things and leaving for London immediately. “It was highly irregular to make the trip in the first place,” she told Marcus privately. “I doubt there will be talk, given our previous connection and the precariousness of your health, but we both know that society will not be so lenient if we linger.”

“Of course,” Marcus murmured. It was for the best, really. He was beyond bored and would miss having them about, but the season would be starting in earnest soon, and Honoria needed to get back to London. She was an unmarried daughter of an earl and thus in search of a suitable husband; there was no other place for her at this time of year.

He would have to go, too, to keep his vow to Daniel and make sure she didn’t marry an idiot, but he was stuck in bed—doctor’s orders—and would be for at least another week. After that he would be confined to his home for another week, possibly two, until Dr. Winters was confident that he was free of infection. Lady Winstead had made him promise to follow the doctor’s directives.

“We did not save your life to have you squander it,” she told him.

It would be close to a month before he could follow them to town. He found that inexplicably frustrating.

“Is Honoria about?” he asked Lady Winstead, even though he knew better than to inquire about an unmarried young lady to her mother—even with those two. But he was so bored. And he missed her company.

Which was not at all the same thing as missing her.

“We had tea just a little while ago,” Lady Winstead said. “She mentioned she saw you this morning. I believe she plans to find some books for you in the library here. I imagine she’ll be by this evening to bring them.”

“That will be much appreciated. I’m almost done with . . .” He looked over at his bedside table. What had he been reading? “Philosophical Inquiries Into the Essence of Human Freedom.”

Her brows rose. “Are you enjoying it?”

“Not very much, no.”

“I shall tell Honoria to hurry along with the books, then,” she said with an amused smile.

“I look forward to it,” he said. He started to smile as well, then caught himself and assumed a more serious mien.

“I’m sure she does, too,” Lady Winstead said.