took it to heart."
Townsend stared at the floor. Caroline spoke soothingly. "She would have heard it eventually. She'll be fine, you'll see, my lord. Tomorrow she'll stand hale and hearty by your side at the altar."
"Amen," Radleigh muttered, and Thorne shot Caroline a grateful look.
The study door opened; Hodges motioned them in. Gwynneth, pale but no more than normal, was drinking tea on the settee.
"She is in fine form," the doctor assured them, returning medical instruments to his bag. "Merely took a chill. The fire and the tea and the blankets were just what she needed." Aside to Thorne, he muttered, "Those damned stays, you know. Women can scarcely breathe sitting still, let alone climbing steep steps."
He turned back to Gwynneth with a solicitous expression. "None of this 'ladylike' skimping on meals, Miss Stowington," he chided gently. "And plenty of rest tonight, early to bed." He looked squarely at Thorne, who arched his brow.
"I'll see to it," Radleigh blustered, patting Gwynneth's hand. Her answering scowl proved she was herself again.
"Doctor Hodges," she called after him as he was leaving.
The palace guards couldn't have about-faced more promptly. "Yes, my lady?"
"Will you be at our wedding?"
The doctor's long face beamed. "Barring emergencies, I most certainly will."
"Such a gentleman," Gwynneth remarked when he'd gone. "Has he a wife, Thorne?"
"No, poor chap. Not many are up to his profession--off at all hours of the day or night to visit the sick and dying." Thorne sat down and took hold of Gwynneth's hand.
"He's a lovesick pup," Caroline said dryly, "but he left us with good news, did he not?" Bending to take Gwynneth's other hand, she nearly spilled her bounteous décolletage in Thorne's face. "You had us worried, my dear," she purred. "I'll leave you now, you need your rest."
"You rest, too. You must be exhausted from all this foolishness," Gwynneth told her, smiling gratefully and squeezing her hand. "We shall see you at supper."
Struggling to ignore Caroline's blatant display, Thorne eyed the emerald betrothal ring on Gwynneth's finger. "Do you remember what happened before you fainted?" he asked after the others left the room.
"I know I grew quite cold. So you see, it was a chill."
Throw it off , Thorne told himself, silently vowing never to let her on the battlements again. "Let me take you to your chambers," he murmured. "You must rest, our day dawns just hours from now."
"Oh, my lord," she breathed. "I am glad, but I must know..."
"Anything, my lady." Cupping her heart-shaped face in one hand, Thorne brushed his fingertips over a peach-blushed cheek and gazed into her beseeching eyes. "What is it?"
"Do you find my kiss...satisfactory?"
Half chuckling, half groaning, he pulled her close. "Your kiss is more than satisfactory, Gwynneth...it drives me mad." He pressed his lips to her throat. "Hang the wedding, the witnesses too," he murmured at her ear, and heard her breathing quicken. "Say the word. We'll go and fetch the priest now if you-"
He broke off with a muttered curse as a knock came at the door.
Jennings spoke quietly, a jerk of his head indicating the great hall. "Sorry to intrude, M'lord, but another guest has arrived...Mister Horace Sutherland of London." He blinked then, startled at Thorne's hoarse reply.
"Thank God in his ever-belated mercy."
TWELVE
"All is in place," Arthur assured Thorne in the early evening quiet of the study--their only refuge since the guests had descended upon the Hall. "The church is polished and bedecked from chancel to nave to entry. I'd a look for myself."
Thorne's sudden cough disguised a snicker. The thought of Arthur stepping foot in a "papist" church was too much for his composure.
"There's enough food for all of London," the steward went on. "The coaches are shining inside and out, the horses are curried and new-shod, and from what I saw in the village this afternoon, labors have been cut short and shops closed
Townsend stared at the floor. Caroline spoke soothingly. "She would have heard it eventually. She'll be fine, you'll see, my lord. Tomorrow she'll stand hale and hearty by your side at the altar."
"Amen," Radleigh muttered, and Thorne shot Caroline a grateful look.
The study door opened; Hodges motioned them in. Gwynneth, pale but no more than normal, was drinking tea on the settee.
"She is in fine form," the doctor assured them, returning medical instruments to his bag. "Merely took a chill. The fire and the tea and the blankets were just what she needed." Aside to Thorne, he muttered, "Those damned stays, you know. Women can scarcely breathe sitting still, let alone climbing steep steps."
He turned back to Gwynneth with a solicitous expression. "None of this 'ladylike' skimping on meals, Miss Stowington," he chided gently. "And plenty of rest tonight, early to bed." He looked squarely at Thorne, who arched his brow.
"I'll see to it," Radleigh blustered, patting Gwynneth's hand. Her answering scowl proved she was herself again.
"Doctor Hodges," she called after him as he was leaving.
The palace guards couldn't have about-faced more promptly. "Yes, my lady?"
"Will you be at our wedding?"
The doctor's long face beamed. "Barring emergencies, I most certainly will."
"Such a gentleman," Gwynneth remarked when he'd gone. "Has he a wife, Thorne?"
"No, poor chap. Not many are up to his profession--off at all hours of the day or night to visit the sick and dying." Thorne sat down and took hold of Gwynneth's hand.
"He's a lovesick pup," Caroline said dryly, "but he left us with good news, did he not?" Bending to take Gwynneth's other hand, she nearly spilled her bounteous décolletage in Thorne's face. "You had us worried, my dear," she purred. "I'll leave you now, you need your rest."
"You rest, too. You must be exhausted from all this foolishness," Gwynneth told her, smiling gratefully and squeezing her hand. "We shall see you at supper."
Struggling to ignore Caroline's blatant display, Thorne eyed the emerald betrothal ring on Gwynneth's finger. "Do you remember what happened before you fainted?" he asked after the others left the room.
"I know I grew quite cold. So you see, it was a chill."
Throw it off , Thorne told himself, silently vowing never to let her on the battlements again. "Let me take you to your chambers," he murmured. "You must rest, our day dawns just hours from now."
"Oh, my lord," she breathed. "I am glad, but I must know..."
"Anything, my lady." Cupping her heart-shaped face in one hand, Thorne brushed his fingertips over a peach-blushed cheek and gazed into her beseeching eyes. "What is it?"
"Do you find my kiss...satisfactory?"
Half chuckling, half groaning, he pulled her close. "Your kiss is more than satisfactory, Gwynneth...it drives me mad." He pressed his lips to her throat. "Hang the wedding, the witnesses too," he murmured at her ear, and heard her breathing quicken. "Say the word. We'll go and fetch the priest now if you-"
He broke off with a muttered curse as a knock came at the door.
Jennings spoke quietly, a jerk of his head indicating the great hall. "Sorry to intrude, M'lord, but another guest has arrived...Mister Horace Sutherland of London." He blinked then, startled at Thorne's hoarse reply.
"Thank God in his ever-belated mercy."
TWELVE
"All is in place," Arthur assured Thorne in the early evening quiet of the study--their only refuge since the guests had descended upon the Hall. "The church is polished and bedecked from chancel to nave to entry. I'd a look for myself."
Thorne's sudden cough disguised a snicker. The thought of Arthur stepping foot in a "papist" church was too much for his composure.
"There's enough food for all of London," the steward went on. "The coaches are shining inside and out, the horses are curried and new-shod, and from what I saw in the village this afternoon, labors have been cut short and shops closed
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