Kate was kneeling on the floor beside the couch on which Angela lay, frowning down worriedly at her as she waved smelling salts beneath Angela’s nose. Angela coughed at the acrid scent and feebly pushed Kate’s arm away. “There, now. She’s coming round,” Kate declared triumphantly. For a moment, Angela could not remember what had happened or why she was lying on a sofa. She was aware only of a ferocious pain in her head and a certain queasiness in her stomach. She blinked and looked up from her maid’s face to the people behind Kate. Jeremy and Mr. Pettigrew were standing back and to either side, flanking a frowning, dark stranger. Angela remembered now what had happened. “Cam…” “Yes, my lady. I beg your pardon. I am usually not so fearsome as to drive young women to collapse.” “I am not usually a young woman who collapses,” Angela retorted, pride compelling her to sit up. She regretted it immediately, for her head swam, and Kate reached out to place a steadying hand on her shoulder.
