While the other greetings were warm and heartfelt, a shrill ‘Miss Watson’ was all Melanie Merton offered. The sharp edge to the salutation sent a chill through her as did the cold gaze that raked her from top to toe. Determined to advance Peter’s cause, she braced herself to overlook the rude behavior and improve their friendship. A bit of harmless flattery couldn’t hurt. “Miss Merton, you look lovely this evening.”
Melanie preened a little. “Thank you.”
When Melanie made no attempt to return the compliment or continue conversing, Abigail glanced about. Julia and Imogen gaped at her until she began to wonder if she’d left half her hair hanging down her back.
“Dinner is served,” the Radley’s butler intoned, saving them from the need to make further small talk. They all stood, Melanie taking the lead to proceed into dinner. Imogen caught Abigail’s arm when she would have followed. “I may just be sick to my stomach before the evening is through.”
“Oh, Imogen. An advantageous marriage is the only way to save Peter.”
Her friend frowned as she glanced around. “Well, I hope you can live with the consequences. Has Mr. Hawke spoken to your brother yet?”
That feeling of disquiet raced through her again when she thought of David’s darkened house. “I don’t believe so. He did not call at the house to see Peter today.”
“I overheard we may have odd numbers for dinner. Melanie will talk of nothing else for a month if that is the case.”
Abigail worried at her fingertip briefly. “Did David decline the invitation?”
One of Imogen’s eyebrows rose. “They say he never answered it. No one has seen him since the men went sea bathing this morning.”
Abigail took her place beside Valentine Merton at the table and participated in the general dinner conversation, but her thoughts remained on the man she had kissed by moonlight last night. Had David taken ill after the swim? Was he all alone in his dark town house? That thought didn’t rest easy with her. Shouldn’t someone check to see if he were well?
CHAPTER SEVEN
David groaned and rolled onto his side as his stomach bitterly complained it was empty. Pale light pierced the gloom through the gaps around his bedchamber drapes and he fumbled for his pocket watch. The hands showed eight o’clock had just passed. He must have dozed off for a few minutes.
He crawled out of bed, stretched his aching limbs, and peeked outside. The sunny day had turned dreary with rain. He frowned as he parted the drapes wider. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky when he’d been swimming this morning. The swift change in the weather surprised him. He’d bee
n asleep less than an hour.
Bemused, he scratched his head, noting that salt had stiffened his hair until it stood on end, and looked for his discarded clothing. But although he searched, everything he’d left on the chair next to the wardrobe was gone. His housekeeper must have crept in and taken them to wash while he’d been napping. Odd, given that Mrs. Lynch had never come into his bedchamber before while he was in it. He didn’t care for the idea. He’d only been asleep for a short time.
When footsteps approached, tapping lightly up the stairs, he dived back into bed and pulled the covers up his chest so he wouldn’t shock the poor woman. Mrs. Lynch only came in to clean in the mornings and to set a pot on to cook during the day. He had no need of a full-time servant. Not for one week a year.
He saw a breakfast tray first, and then his eyes widened as Abigail Watson’s face peeked through the gap, only to quickly vanish again.
Horrified, David sat higher against the headboard and yanked the covers all the way up to his shoulders to cover his nakedness. “What on earth are you doing here, Miss Watson?”
“I was worried about you. May I come in?”
David’s body tensed, everywhere, at that idea and he quickly tamped down such improper thoughts about his innocent neighbor. “No, you may not. I’m not decent. Go home, Miss Watson.”
There was a long silence from the hall, and then Abigail muttered to herself. “Not particularly friendly in the mornings. Must remember that.”
Regardless of his request that she leave, Abigail entered his room carrying a breakfast tray. The smell of ham, chocolate and fresh baked cake came with her and his empty stomach tumbled over itself loudly.
She approached and set the tray over his thighs, a bright blush making her cheeks rosy in the half light, her smile timid. “It is good to see you finally awake. I feared a physician would be needed.”
He pulled the tray higher, attempting to hide the effect her nearness had on his body. “Miss Watson, what are you talking about?”
As she opened the drapes a touch more and then faced him, he noted the apron tied around her waist and her small bare hands fumbling with the material. “It’s Monday. You’ve been asleep since yesterday morning as far as your housekeeper and I can determine.”
“Monday?” David stared at her in shock and then picked up his pocket watch again. The hands hadn’t moved since he’d last looked at it. “What time is it?”
She lifted a chair and relocated it close to the bed. “A little after two o’clock in the afternoon. I’ve never heard of someone sleeping so long unless they were gravely ill.”
Her concern touched him. “I’m not ill.”
A frown crossed her face as she sat. “So you say. But most people don’t lie as still as a corpse either, ignoring young women creeping into their bedchamber.”