Robert sighed and once more looked around for a server. Failing to see anyone, he glanced back and shrugged. “What does it matter? He was dying, and it was a slow and torturous wasting away for him. But . . .” He grimaced and shook his head. “I was sure he’d last another day or so. I had gone out for my morning ride, got back and went up to sit with him only to discover she’d arrived on one of her infrequent visits from town while I was gone.” His mouth tightened. “She was crying prettily into a hanky when I entered the room, but paused to announce with a sad moue that he was dead.”

He looked away and then muttered, “If she did help him on his way, it may have been a favor to him. He was suffering a great deal.” Silence reigned for a moment and then he shifted impatiently. “How the devil did we get on this depressing subject?” When Richard and Daniel merely shook their heads silently, pity in their expressions, he stood abruptly. “I’m heading back to the townhouse. At least there I can get a drink when I want it. Good day, gentlemen.”

“Are you a virgin, dear Bet?”

Lisa blinked her eyes open and frowned, both at the fact that she was dozing off in the middle of tea—which was surely about the rudest thing she could do—but also because Mrs. Morgan’s question was completely inappropriate. Good Lord, one simply didn’t ask a lady’s maid things like that. Or anyone, really.

Realizing she’d somehow slumped in her seat, she sat up and found herself swaying alarmingly. Good Lord, what was the matter with her? Lisa wondered and gave her head a shake.

A confused mumble from Bet drew her gaze and she found the maid peering at her with the same dismay she was now experiencing.

“Well, never mind,” Mrs. Morgan said with unconcern. “I suspect you are, but we shall have the doctor verify it. He has to anyway for the auction. Otherwise, no one will bid on you. They don’t simply take these things on word alone when paying such high prices.”

None of that made the least bit of sense to Lisa, but it did send a frisson of alarm through her.

“Mishes Mor—” she began, but paused abruptly as she heard the slur to her words.

“Oh my, I do believe the tincture is starting to take effect,” Mrs. Morgan said pleasantly and picked up the small bell on the table beside her to ring it twice. “Time for bed I think. It will keep you out of trouble until they arrive.”

“They?” Lisa asked with bewilderment, some part of her brain—a very confused and slow-working part—trying to tell her she needed to get herself and Bet out of there . . . now.