Read Online The Sandalwood Princess by Loretta Chase - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Loretta Chase
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find himself under so great an obligation to her. Still, he reminded himself, she had saved Jessup’s life.
Accordingly, Philip sought her out that afternoon to thank her. He found her, as he’d expected, above, standing at the rail and gazing out at the sea. She spent most of the day at the rail, it seemed, sometimes with Mrs. Gales or Bella, but most often alone. Time and again he’d come up for a five-minute breath of air, and find Miss Cavencourt standing so. An hour later, he’d be back for another hasty gulp, and behold her there yet, apparently lost to all the world, her gaze fixed upon the water.
At his polite greeting now, she started, and, as though she had been someplace very far away; a long moment passed before her golden eyes brightened with recognition.
Halfway through the proper little speech he’d prepared, Philip became aware of a new scent mingling with the salt air. Patchouli. But light, only a hint. It must be in the shawl. Kashmir was often stored in patchouli, to ward off insects. Nothing ominous about that, he thought, as he continued somewhat distractedly to describe Jessup’s improved condition and express his gratitude.
“It’s very pleasant to be applauded,” she said when Philip finally ground to a halt, “but most of the credit goes to Padji. It’s his secret recipe, you know.”
“Indeed. We are most fortunate you brought him with you,” Philip replied stiffly.
“You seem devoted to Mr. Wringle,” she said, her gaze upon his left lapel. “Have you been long in his employ?”
Now it begins, he thought cynically. Still, expecting an examination sooner or later, he’d prepared his answers. As usual, he’d offer no more truth or falsehood than absolutely necessary.
“I have been acquainted with Mr. Wringle some time,” he said, “but came into his employ only very recently, thanks to Mr. Groves.” Mr. Groves the incompetent, Jessup a solicitor, and Philip the valet, when it was supposed to be the other way about! But that wasn’t all Randall’s fault, was it? With Philip unavailable at the time, Jessup had to play the master. They’d hardly chuck Monty Larchmere out on account of a mere servant, regardless how desperate the case.
“Then your loyalty is all the more admirable.” Her gaze swept upward, and he found himself gazing into golden light, where shadows flickered. “You’ve scarce left his bedside this fortnight.”
“Naturally, one would wish to be at hand if the master needed anything.”
“All the same, you will not wish to wear yourself out. You’ll be no use to him if you sicken as well, and your pallor tells me you haven’t enjoyed a decent night’s sleep—or a proper meal—the whole time.”
Until that moment, Philip had not felt the least unwell. Abruptly he became aware of his aching muscles, and with that awareness, weariness began to steal through him. It was as though he’d been an automaton these last two weeks. Now she’d said the words, the mechanism proceeded to disintegrate.
“It can’t be healthy for you to remain so long in that close space,” she went on, ignoring the denial he murmured. “At least when Bella is there, you might leave with clear conscience, and take a stroll in the fresh air.”
Fresh air. Damn her. But she couldn’t know about that. She only wanted him out of the way.
“I appreciate your concern, miss, but I’m afraid the nursing still wants two people.”
“Oh ... yes ... naturally. In any event, you are here now, aren’t you? How silly to tell you to do what you’re already doing. Sillier still to make you stand and endure a lecture, when I have just recommended exercise. Pray don’t let me keep you.” She turned back to the sea.
Philip hurried back to the cabin, certain one of Miss Cavencourt’s minions was nosing about. That he found no minion, nor a single article disturbed, did not appease him. He crawled into his uncomfortable hammock and tried to nap. Too late. She’d killed
Accordingly, Philip sought her out that afternoon to thank her. He found her, as he’d expected, above, standing at the rail and gazing out at the sea. She spent most of the day at the rail, it seemed, sometimes with Mrs. Gales or Bella, but most often alone. Time and again he’d come up for a five-minute breath of air, and find Miss Cavencourt standing so. An hour later, he’d be back for another hasty gulp, and behold her there yet, apparently lost to all the world, her gaze fixed upon the water.
At his polite greeting now, she started, and, as though she had been someplace very far away; a long moment passed before her golden eyes brightened with recognition.
Halfway through the proper little speech he’d prepared, Philip became aware of a new scent mingling with the salt air. Patchouli. But light, only a hint. It must be in the shawl. Kashmir was often stored in patchouli, to ward off insects. Nothing ominous about that, he thought, as he continued somewhat distractedly to describe Jessup’s improved condition and express his gratitude.
“It’s very pleasant to be applauded,” she said when Philip finally ground to a halt, “but most of the credit goes to Padji. It’s his secret recipe, you know.”
“Indeed. We are most fortunate you brought him with you,” Philip replied stiffly.
“You seem devoted to Mr. Wringle,” she said, her gaze upon his left lapel. “Have you been long in his employ?”
Now it begins, he thought cynically. Still, expecting an examination sooner or later, he’d prepared his answers. As usual, he’d offer no more truth or falsehood than absolutely necessary.
“I have been acquainted with Mr. Wringle some time,” he said, “but came into his employ only very recently, thanks to Mr. Groves.” Mr. Groves the incompetent, Jessup a solicitor, and Philip the valet, when it was supposed to be the other way about! But that wasn’t all Randall’s fault, was it? With Philip unavailable at the time, Jessup had to play the master. They’d hardly chuck Monty Larchmere out on account of a mere servant, regardless how desperate the case.
“Then your loyalty is all the more admirable.” Her gaze swept upward, and he found himself gazing into golden light, where shadows flickered. “You’ve scarce left his bedside this fortnight.”
“Naturally, one would wish to be at hand if the master needed anything.”
“All the same, you will not wish to wear yourself out. You’ll be no use to him if you sicken as well, and your pallor tells me you haven’t enjoyed a decent night’s sleep—or a proper meal—the whole time.”
Until that moment, Philip had not felt the least unwell. Abruptly he became aware of his aching muscles, and with that awareness, weariness began to steal through him. It was as though he’d been an automaton these last two weeks. Now she’d said the words, the mechanism proceeded to disintegrate.
“It can’t be healthy for you to remain so long in that close space,” she went on, ignoring the denial he murmured. “At least when Bella is there, you might leave with clear conscience, and take a stroll in the fresh air.”
Fresh air. Damn her. But she couldn’t know about that. She only wanted him out of the way.
“I appreciate your concern, miss, but I’m afraid the nursing still wants two people.”
“Oh ... yes ... naturally. In any event, you are here now, aren’t you? How silly to tell you to do what you’re already doing. Sillier still to make you stand and endure a lecture, when I have just recommended exercise. Pray don’t let me keep you.” She turned back to the sea.
Philip hurried back to the cabin, certain one of Miss Cavencourt’s minions was nosing about. That he found no minion, nor a single article disturbed, did not appease him. He crawled into his uncomfortable hammock and tried to nap. Too late. She’d killed
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