Amanda Scott by Sisters Traherne (Lady Meriel's Duty; Lord Lyford's Secret) Page A

alone. No, no, don’t poker up like that. You begin to look like a stuffy schoolmistress, which quite puts me off whatever it was I was going to say to you.”
    “You have no right to forbid me anything, sir,” she said tartly.
    “No, certainly not. Ah, here is Trent with your abigail, I believe. You will be wishing to see to your sister at once.”
    Much though she would have liked to continue their conversation, to be certain that Sir Antony quite understood that she would bow neither to his charm nor to his will, Meriel realized with a pang of conscience that she had been standing at the rail with him for an unconscionably long time. No doubt poor Eliza was feeling ill-used.
    “You sent for me, my lady?” Gladys Peat, a buxom middle-aged woman with crisp brown curls set under a neat cap, regarded Sir Antony with a basilisk eye, drawing herself up and straightening her shoulders with a militant air.
    Meriel, glancing up at the tall gentleman, saw that his lips twitched. Amused despite herself, she turned to her tirewoman. “Indeed, Gladys, Lady Gwenyth is ill and must be put to bed at once. Sir Antony here has most obligingly offered the use of his own cabin, where she will be a good deal more comfortable, I daresay, than in one of those tiny cubbyholes in ours.”
    “Yes, m’lady.” Gladys’ starched-up attitude disappeared in a swell of concern for Lady Gwenyth. “’Tis a pity we’ve no laudanum by us. ’Twould be best an the poor lamb sleeps as much as she can.”
    “Sir,” said Peter Trent, addressing his master, “I’ve some in my kit if Mrs. Peat would condescend to accept it.”
    Sir Antony bowed to Meriel. “As I said, ma’am, he sees to my every need.”
    “’Tis not your need but Gwenyth’s,” she pointed out.
    “Ah, but my need at present is to see to your needs,” he said gently, “so you see …” He spread his hands, indicating that there was no more to be said, then turned to his man. “Attend to the matter at once, Trent.”
    The valet took himself off, and Meriel led the way back to Gwenyth’s side. Her little sister looked no better than when she had left her, and Eliza looked considerably worse.
    “Dear me, Eliza,” Meriel said, “I hope you do not mean to be ill too. Auntie Wynne will go into flat despair.”
    Eliza managed a smile. “I shall be all right, I daresay, once Gwen is settled, although I must tell you, Meri, that if she is sick all night, I probably shall succumb too.”
    “Well, you need not trouble yourself, my dear, for Sir Antony—you do remember Sir Antony Davies, do you not?” When Eliza nodded, blushing delicately, Meriel continued, “Well, Sir Antony has most kindly given up his stateroom so that Gwen may be comfortable. Do you hear that, Gwen? You are to have a cabin all to yourself, and Gladys Peat to look after you for tonight, at least. If you are still unwell tomorrow, then you will have to make do with Broadman, for Gladys gets off the ship with me at Swansea, you know, but I daresay you will be right as a trivet by then.”
    Gwenyth smiled wanly but made no comment, and Meriel could only be grateful when Sir Antony, having unceremoniously followed them into the ladies’ saloon, now scooped the young girl up in his arms to carry her below. She could not think, looking at Gwenyth, that the child would have been able to walk the distance by herself, even supported by Gladys and one of her sisters.
    Once below, Gwenyth was quickly tucked up in bed and dosed with the laudanum provided by Peter Trent.
    “She’ll do now, my lady,” said Gladys Peat in a low voice. Then she turned toward Sir Antony, giving him a direct look. “’Tis kind of you, sir, to put the child’s needs afore yer own.”
    “Why did I have the feeling,” Sir Antony asked as he escorted Meriel along the companionway a few moments later, “that I was being threatened rather than thanked just now?”
    She chuckled, drawing her thoughts away from Gwenyth’s predicament