She felt rather triumphant when James ate half the scone and drank his tea. His face was somewhat less drawn, though there was still a pinch of pain between his eyes. “Have you a headache? I could get you something for it. My father’s bag of remedies—”
“It would not help. Believe me, I have taken medicines by the score.” He set down his cup with a rattle. “I think it’s time we left.”
She had made a misstep there. However, Laura was not one to give up easily. She went along with him, but as soon as they were settled in the carriage, Dem sprawled on the floor between their seats, Laura took up the subject again.
“You did not tell me what your illness was.”
“No, I did not.”
She crossed her arms and gazed levelly at him. “It’s a long ride to spend in silence.”
He returned her stare for a moment, then muttered, “The devil with it.” He continued in a crisp impersonal tone, “I have a cough. Headaches. My heart beats irregularly. Lately my hand . . .” He unconsciously rubbed his left hand. “Food often nauseates me. I cannot sleep, and when I manage to do so, I frequently have odd, vivid dreams. The other day I—I could not remember where the bank was located.” He turned his head to stare out the window, setting his jaw. “There. Does that satisfy you?”
Laura tamped down the pity that rose in her. James, she suspected, would close the topic immediately if she offered sympathy. “What was the diagnosis?”
“Lord, but you are persistent. Let me see . . . the first doctor said catarrh. Another suspected consumption. Next, a bad heart. When my hand began to shake, they thought it palsy. One doctor suggested brain fever and offered trepanning as a cure. I have tonics to inhale to aid my cough and pills to combat the headaches. I gave up the pills because they made me feel worse, and I’ve no desire to let them cut open my head and go exploring. In the end, they decided on brain tumor. Apparently one growing at a rather rapid rate.”
“I suppose that would explain the varied symptoms.”
“It scarcely matters, does it? It’s all the same in the end.”
Laura swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
“No reason to be. Not your fault. And nothing to be done about it.”
He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, effectively ending the conversation. Laura studied his face. He was such an unyielding man. One would almost think his will alone would keep him alive. Which was, she reasoned, exactly how he wanted to appear.
She wondered what really drove James. Pride? Sheer contrariness? He had both those in full measure. The face he presented to the world was cold and practical. And perhaps that was all there was to him. Still, she had seen the regret and despair that had flashed in his eyes at unguarded moments, the humor that made its way past his pain, the affection for his dog. He was a puzzle, and she had always been intrigued by puzzles. A little pang went through her; there might not be enough time to figure him out.
As the time passed, Laura could see that the ride wore on James. Trapped in this carriage with her for hours, he could not completely hide the severity of his condition. She saw his hand twitch even though he immediately tucked it under his leg or shoved it into his pocket. She saw the lines of his face deepen, his jaw clench, his face grow paler, his erect posture begin to sag. Once for a short time he slept, and in that state, stripped of pretense, he could not hold back a low moan or hide a wince.
It did not surprise her that he didn’t halt the carriage for himself, only for the horses. Laura had learned enough of him not to comment or ask if his pain was worse. Instead, whenever she saw that he was flagging, she told him she needed to rest or take a stroll or have refreshments. James always complied, though once or twice he cast a speculative glance at her.
It was awkward to sit together for hours without talking. But a few general questions brought only brief responses from him. Obviously, James was not a man for idle chitchat. Finally, grasping at conversational straws, Laura asked him about his family.
“They’re an uninteresting lot, I assure you. You have met my mother, Tessa.”
Laura smiled. “Yes. She’s charming.”
“She is indeed. But I warn you, if you allow her to, she will have you running her errands constantly. Mother prefers living in London in general, but a few weeks ago she returned to Grace Hill for reasons I did not fully comprehend other than that it involved Lady Cumberton’s soiree and a certain dress.”
Laura chuckled.
“I have no idea who Mother will have dancing attendance on her. It’s too difficult to keep up with her current swains. My brother Claude will be there. He likes to keep an eye on the estate he expects one day to rule.”