My Favorite Countess by Vanessa Kelly Page B

grim. “You do too much, my lady. There was no need for you to sit up last night—”
    â€œHush,” snapped Bathsheba, mindful of the servants clustered about them. “Don’t fuss, Boland. I just need rest.”
    She shrugged off Boland’s arm and headed to the door of the manor, which stood open in the fine weather. Her body ached with a weariness unlike any she had ever felt. Each step toward the house seemed to take her farther away, as if fatigue distorted the space before her. Even the air seemed to vibrate with a strange hum, a hum that dulled her senses and weighted down her limbs, making her wonder how she would ever manage to climb the stairs to her room.
    â€œSheba!”
    Matthew rushed out the front door. He skidded to a halt in front of her, spraying gravel over the top of her half-boots before enveloping her in a fierce hug. She gave a gasp and stumbled against him, stunned by the searing pain that ripped through the muscles of her neck and back.
    â€œMy lord!” Boland’s sharp voice cut into the haze of pain. “Her ladyship should not be kept standing out here in the heat. Nor does she need you mauling her.”
    Matthew quickly released her and stepped back, unnerved as always by Boland’s imperious manner. Bathsheba choked out a laugh that turned into a burning cough. She gasped, finally catching her breath.
    â€œYou forget yourself, Boland,” she managed.
    Her abigail stared back defiantly, and Bathsheba relented. “Go to my room and prepare a bath. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
    â€œSee that you are,” Boland muttered in a low voice as she stalked into the house.
    â€œHonestly, Sheba, that woman is a menace,” said Matthew.
    â€œForgive her, Cousin,” she replied, taking his arm and steering him into the house. “It’s been a long five days, and we’re both very tired.”
    If every muscle in her body didn’t ache so much, Bathsheba was certain she could have fallen asleep standing upright.
    â€œIs everything all right?” Matthew peered at her anxiously as he helped her up the front steps and into the cool dark of the entrance hall. “Is . . .”
    â€œYes. All is well, thank goodness.” She glanced around. The servants were busy unloading her luggage and hauling it up the stairs to her chambers.
    She leaned in close to Matthew. “Rachel’s fever broke yesterday morning. The doctor expects her to make a full recovery.”
    Relief washed over his face. “Thank God. Was it very bad?”
    She rubbed her eyes, which suddenly felt dry as dust and stung like the devil. “Yes. Those first few days I thought we would lose her. But Rachel is strong, despite her physical ailments.”
    Matthew smiled at her. “And she did all the better for having you there, I’m sure.”
    She nodded wearily. Her heart ached when she recalled the way her sister had clung to her. Rachel couldn’t talk, but she’d had no difficulty communicating that she wanted Bathsheba—and only Bathsheba—by her bedside. Boland and Mrs. Wilson had spelled her whenever Rachel slept, but that wasn’t often as the fever drove her sister to a restless agony that had subsided only yesterday.
    She smothered a gaping yawn behind her gloved hand. No wonder she felt ready to drop. She hadn’t slept more than a few hours at a time in five days.
    â€œWhat a beast I am to keep you here talking, as if you don’t need your rest,” exclaimed Matthew. “Go up to bed, Sheba. You can tell me all about it later.”
    She started toward the stairs but came to a halt when her stomach seemed to do a slow revolution into her chest. Black threads began to drift before her eyes. Another step and the floor undulated beneath her feet, at once closer and yet somehow farther away. She stumbled, reaching for the newel post on the banister.
    â€œBathsheba!” Matthew’s face