A Sense of Propriety

Chapter 12

The fever was upon Cordelia like a thief in the night. She awoke to a burning sensation in her throat so strong that she felt she was drowning. Perspiration coated her forehead and her muscles ached with such pain that she felt she was going to die.

It was through willpower alone that she managed to ring for Martha, and she felt more and more distressed as the seconds passed before she eventually heard the soft knock on her door. She could not find it within her to respond and after a few seconds of silence, she heard the door creak open softly.

"You rang, Miss Cordelia?" Martha asked softly, her eyes squinting in the darkness of the room.

"Help," Cordelia whispered weakly, her voice croaking as the sensitive muscles burned.

Martha was beside her in an instant, observing the heat of her skin and glazed expression. She gasped in alarm and quickly pulled on the rope to call for more servants' assistance.

Cordelia was vaguely aware of the coolness of a cotton cloth against her forehead and temples, and the hushed murmurs of instruction as her consciousness was akin to those of waves upon a shore. Many times she woke briefly to see her room spinning. She would groan low in her throat, wishing for the pounding ache in her skull to subside and as soon as she closed her eyes, she would drift into oblivion once more.

She remembered one time being forced to sit upright and a warm, sweet substance was eased down her throat. It made her stomach churn, threatening to expel what it was forced to consume. Soothing hands moved up and down her spine then and the feeling was relieved.

Cordelia could only remember one time that she had been so sick. She had not been in London long and was battling to acclimatise herself to the world of the upper class. She had been overcome by such a terrible bout of homesickness that she felt she would be better off dead. In her fever-stricken mind, she knew that this was what she was experiencing once again, and it was something that the doctor confirmed when he reached the house at first light.

"How is she, Martha?" Lady Mayfield asked a little later that morning as she and her son stepped into the room to notice the old woman seated beside the bed, continuously replacing the cool cloths when they grew too warm.

"She is still burning. I do not think the doctor's medicine is working yet," she replied, her expression pinched with worry.

George frowned at her words, and he glanced towards the fire crackling in the corner. "How can she be burning when she is not even near the fire?"

His mother ignored his comment as she stepped towards the bed. "Make ready her luggage, Martha," she instructed with a softened voice as she looked upon the dismal sight of her sick niece. "We are to return to Mayfield as soon as she is strong enough to handle the journey."

Her voice, as quiet as it was, left no room for discussion. She cared not that they were now in the height of the season. She should have known that this would occur sooner or later. Her niece, as strong and resilient as she was, could not be apart from the country for such extended periods. She drew her strength from nature, finding it extremely difficult to navigate life in the city for so many weeks without reprieve.

The old nurse bowed. "Very well, Your Ladyship."

"Finally," the Earl replied with a sigh of relief as he and his mother exited the room. "I thought we would never leave this place."

The Countess glanced at him with a sharp look. "You certainly do pick the most opportune moments to be a ray of sunshine, you know."

His dark eyes flickered with confusion. "It is physically impossible for one to be a ray of sunshine."