The prince himself and a bevy of servants waited upon them. She was unneeded. Unlike Arielle Dijon, she could not bear to sit in the drawing room with the others before dinner, remaining modest and demure while the gentlemen, Lady Margaret, and the duchess speculated on the purpose the betraying guards had in harming Lord Case and his brother. Unable to eat, she took out the pugs and then asked after Gonçalo. She was told that the hero of the day was sleeping soundly in his lordship’s room. She retired to her bedchamber, unnoticed. Late, after she finally ceased pacing and climbed into bed, a scratch at her door roused her. By the light of a candle, Lord Case’s valet was white with agitation. “He has taken fever, miss.” He wrung his hands. “I haven’t any notion of how to care for him. His lordship has a physician to see to such things.” “I can help.”
