Just Like Heaven by Julia Quinn

quickly. Lord Chatteris is stranded in the woods, and I told him I would—”
    â€œWhat?” Mrs. Royle screeched. “What are you talking about?”
    Briefly, Honoria related the story she’d concocted while hurrying home. She’d wandered off from the group and lost her way. Lord Chatteris had been walking in the woods. He had told her that the path went back and forth between the two properties. Then he’d twisted his ankle.
    It was mostly true.
    â€œWe will bring him back here,” Mrs. Royle said. “I will send someone at once.”
    â€œNo,” Honoria said, still a bit out of breath. “He wants to go home. He asked me to send word to the head of his stables. He told me exactly what to say.”
    â€œNo,” Mrs. Royle said firmly. “I think he should come here.”
    â€œMrs. Royle, please . Every moment we’re arguing, he is stranded out there in the rain.”
    Mrs. Royle was clearly conflicted, but finally she gave a nod and said, “Follow me.” There was a writing desk in an alcove down the hall. She took out paper, pen, and ink and stepped aside so that Honoria could sit down. But Honoria’s fingers were numb; she could barely grip the pen. And her hair would surely drip all over the paper.
    Sarah stepped forward. “Would you like me to do it for you?”
    Honoria nodded gratefully and told Sarah exactly what to write, all the while trying to ignore Mrs. Royle, who was hovering behind her, interrupting every so often with what she thought were helpful comments.
    Sarah finished the letter, signed Honoria’s name, and then, at Honoria’s nod, handed it to Mrs. Royle.
    â€œPlease send it with your swiftest rider,” Honoria begged.
    Mrs. Royle took it and hurried off. Sarah immediately stood and took her cousin by the hand. “You need to get warm,” she said in a voice that brooked no protest. “You’re coming with me right now. I already told a maid to heat water for a bath.”
    Honoria nodded. She had done what she needed to do. Now she could finally collapse.
    T he following morning dawned mockingly clear. Honoria had slept for twelve hours straight, bundled under quilts, with a hot brick at her feet. Sarah had crept into her room at some point to tell her that they’d received word from Fensmore; Marcus had arrived safely at home and was probably in his own bed, with his own hot brick at his feet.
    But as Honoria got dressed, she was still worried. She had been utterly frozen by the time she’d reached Bricstan, and he had been out in the rain for far longer than she had. It had been windy, too; she’d heard the trees rustling and creaking through her window when she’d been taking her bath. Marcus would almost certainly have caught a chill. And what if his ankle was not merely twisted but broken? Would they have sent for a surgeon already to set it? Would they have known to do so?
    And who were “they,” anyway? Marcus had no family that she knew of. Who would care for him if he took ill? Was there anyone at Fensmore besides the servants?
    She was going to have to check on his welfare. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself otherwise.
    Down at breakfast, the other guests were surprised to see her. The gentlemen had all returned to Cambridge, but the young ladies were gathered around the table, eating their coddled eggs and toast.
    â€œHonoria!” Sarah exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing out of bed?”
    â€œI’m perfectly well,” Honoria assured her. “I haven’t even a sniffle.”
    â€œHer fingers were like icicles last night,” Sarah said to Cecily and Iris. “She could not even grip a pen.”
    â€œIt was nothing that a hot bath and a good night’s sleep could not cure,” Honoria said. “But I would like to travel to Fensmore this morning. It was my fault that Lord Chatteris twisted his ankle, and I really