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pursed into a pout. “My niece is not fond of having spirits in the house. The supply has dwindled sadly since she took over the estate.”
    “Arabella runs the estate?”
    “Oh, yes. Since her father died two years ago.” “Surely her brother assists her.”
    “Oh. You don’t know about . . . Robert is not well,” Emma said, a tremor to her voice.
    “Humph,” Jane said, returning to the bed with a metal cup. “Robert would be fine if you and Arabella would cease coddling him.”
    Flags of color flew in Emma’s cheeks. “We do not cod- dle him; we just want to help him. If you weren’t so unfeeling, you would want to help him, too.”
    “The doctor says we should force him to use his legs.” “Ha!” Emma scoffed. “And what does the doctor know
    about paralysis? Has he ever been paralyzed?” “Of all the silly—”
    “How did Robert come to be injured?” Lucien inter- rupted hastily. His shoulder was stiff and painful, his head throbbed a relentless beat, and his bandages were so tight he could barely breathe. The last thing he needed was to have two elderly women arguing across his bed as if it were a chessboard and he a hapless pawn.
    Emma sent a darkling glare at Jane. “Robert was para- lyzed in the war .”
    “No,” returned Jane evenly. “Robert was not paralyzed until two weeks after he returned. He rode his horse all the way up the coast to Rosemont the day his ship landed and even bragged he’d made record time.”
    “But he was pale,” Emma said quickly. “And he had horrible nightmares those first weeks. We thought he’d get better once he’d had time to adjust. But . . .” Her voice
    faded to a thread. “One day, he didn’t come down to breakfast.”
    Jane fished in her pocket for a handkerchief. “We found him by the bed, trying to reach the door to call for help.” She met Lucien’s gaze with a pained smile and pushed her kerchief into Emma’s waiting hand. “That was two months ago.”
    If Arabella was indeed overseeing the estate, as well as the care of an invalid brother and her two crazed aunts, it was no wonder she’d appeared so tense the evening before. Lucien moved restlessly under the sheet, feeling as if a weight were pressing him into the soft mattress. “Is there no one to help administer the estate?”
    Jane sighed. “Emma and I try, but I fear we are more often a burden than not.”
    Maybe he could do something. God knew, he certainly had the funds. He would talk with Arabella, offer to underwrite her expenses until—
    Bloody hell, what was he thinking? Arabella Hadley would no more accept help from him than she would a gift from the devil. Even at sixteen, she had possessed far more than her fair share of pride; it had been one of the things that had drawn him to her. The women Lucien had met in London had either been bored society misses or shameless paphians. Arabella had been different. An engaging mixture of innocence and excitement, she had experienced life second by second, throwing herself wholeheartedly into whatever she did. She’d been an amazingly sensual lover, her emotions completely engaged. And he had been utterly besotted.
    Not that it mattered now. Whatever sentiment she’d once felt for him was long gone. The sooner he removed himself from Rosemont, the better she would like it. But once he left, he would find a way to be of service to her,
    perhaps through a third party, so she would not suspect his influence.
    He would send for Hastings, complete his assignment for the Home Office, and return to London. Then he would set his solicitor to investigating the state of affairs at Rosemont. The idea gave him a surge of strength. “Has my horse been found?”
    “Arabella sent Ned to search for him, but it will be hours before he returns,” Emma said placidly.
    Jane held out the metal cup. “Drink some of this and you’ll feel much better.”
    The scent of cinnamon and cloves wafted through the air. Lucien’s stomach rumbled and he