[Previously: She knows! He knows she knows! She knows that he knows she knows! Jacques isn't sure what he knows. ;-)]
Chapter Ten
Lavinia, through Jacques, requested sustaining broths from the kitchen staff and she again adjusted her tea recipe, gradually cutting back on pain easement but continuing with herbs known to invigorate the blood.
The rest of the day Cedric slept a great deal, but it was a more natural sleep. He drank the broths and teas that were given to him but in a disinterested way, and seemed only partly aware of the care being given to him. Around nine that evening, however, when Lavinia had stopped in to check on him after dining with her father and Mrs. Clark, Cedric awoke in a much more alert frame of mind and declared he was hungry. His nurses were delighted.
Jacques took the news down to the kitchen, where the undercook, Martha, had been waiting anxiously for just such news--Lucius' personal chef having nearly as low an opinion of the illnesses of his master's relatives as did Lucius.
"Poor boy!" Martha exclaimed, her amiable countenance marred by concern. "Tell Master Cedric he shall have some of my best stewed chicken along with freshly-baked bread and my very own pear preserves. I know how much he loves my preserves, bless him. I'll send Jon up with a tray directly, Mooseur Jacques."
He thanked her and went away to inform Cedric of the treats in store for him.
Cedric made a good meal, even if he couldn't finish all that the hopeful Martha had sent up for him. For besides the dishes she'd listed for Jacques, she'd also included some peas, cooked apples, a large glass of milk, and a cherry tartlet.
Lavinia made no comment in front of the servant, merely requesting that he convey her thanks to Martha, but as soon as he'd left, she began to lighten the load on the tray. She was glad that Cedric was hungry, for that was a sign that he was healing well, but she also knew he did not yet have enough strength to tackle one of Martha's feasts, nor would it even be wise for him to eat too much too soon.
The meal did appear to do him good, though, and he was even able to smile at her, and joke with Jacques, all of which was so much like his usual self that she wasn't concerned when he fell asleep rather suddenly, practically between bites of Martha's wonderful bread and pear preserves.
The next day, after breakfast, Cedric insisted that he was well enough to get out of bed. Lavinia insisted he was not.
"Mais, mon coeur," he cajoled her, "it will be dull to lie in bed all day, and I truly feel so much better now."
"Du vrai, mon petit chou, you feel better because you are lying down. You should stay in bed for another day."
Jacques stood near the fireplace, a forgotten but keenly interested observer to this exchange.
"Lavinia, my lovely Lavinia, I have work to do."
"Cedric, my foolish Cedric, I say you shall not!"
In the end, they compromised. Lavinia allowed Cedric to sit up in the bed and he allowed her to help him with his correspondence, ledgers and accounts.
In truth he was glad to lie back down after less than an hour, to take a nap before luncheon. Lavinia noted the shadows under his eyes and the slight grey tinge to his complexion but forbore to say, "I told you so." Rather, she tucked him in and kissed him, then stayed by his bedside for a while, watching him sleep.
He looked so young and vulnerable this way, and it was difficult for her to reconcile this Cedric with the strong yet amusing hero who had first ridden to her rescue, or with the subdued, hard-working nephew or even with the gentle and charming lover who had danced with her and kissed her. He didn't fit into any of the moulds by which she'd always judged men, and it was tempting to believe therein lay her attraction to him, but she knew that wasn't true. This was no mere attraction. In Cedric she'd found her soul mate--the one man with whom she could truly be herself and to whom she could give all of herself, secure in the belief that he would return all that to her, and more.
A lovely ache was around her heart again; fear and courage, excitement and trepidation ... joy and sorrow. They were there, inside her, distinct and yet nearly indistinguishable from each other, amplified as they were by their joining. Before Cedric had come into her life, she would not have believed it was possible to feel so many conflicting emotions, and all at the same time, but she now knew that it was, and even more--that she would be forever held captive by the very person who had first set her heart free.
* * *
"Ma chérie, you cannot play the seven there!"
"Pourquoi pas? It is a very nice seven, Cedric."
It was the third day of Cedric's convalescence and Lavinia had decreed that he might get up for a while. He was tiring of his bed and more than ready to venture beyond the confines of his rooms, but she knew that would not be wise. So, she'd allowed Jacques help him change into breeches and shirt, and to let Cedric sit near the fireplace in his office, but she refused to grant him his coat or his boots, offering him instead his dressing gown and slippers. When he'd looked slightly mutinous she'd hit upon the idea of playing cards to keep him entertained, and it did seem to be working, especially since she spent as much time teasing him as she did playing cards.
"Because," Cedric was explaining, "that's not how the game is played, my dear."
"But Cedric, have you not heard of strategy? This is my strategy ... to use a card you will not expect to see!"
Cedric sighed in a dramatic fashion, but the twinkle in his eyes belied the long-suffering expression on his face. "Strategy? What about the rules of the game?"
"All is fair in love and war, and card games," Lavinia explained demurely.
"And which of those are we playing now?"
She blushed but kept her fingers on the offending card, thus preventing Cedric from removing it from play. "This is war, of course."
"Is it now?" Cedric leaned back in his chair, eyeing his enchanting opponent speculatively. "Well then, Madame Générale, be warned because I will take prisoners when I have won--you will have to pay a ransom."
Glaring at him in mock outrage, she challenged, "'When,' monsieur? What if I should win?"
"C'est ne pas possible. Not unless you follow the rules, ma petite."
Lavinia's chin came up defiantly.
"Moreover, my fair strategist," Cedric continued, smiling at her as if he had not seen that chin, "you might not want to win, when you hear what the ransom would be if you lose."
Her lip twitched, but she refused to return his smile. Mon Dieu, she thought, but it was hard to resist that smile! "Vraiment? Then what is this wonderful ransom, monsieur?"
Cedric leaned forward and captured one of her hands in his own. "A kiss," he said, his love for her evident in warmth of his expression, "a kiss from my lovely Lavinia."
Tears of happiness stung at her eyes, even while she was laughing at his foolishness. What was she going to do with him?
"I do not think you have to win a card game to earn that, monsieur."
"I would hope not, chérie." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, his eyes regarding her steadily. "I love you," he told her, with no trace in his voice of the earlier teasing note.
"I love you, too," she whispered, then held his hand next to her face, pressing her cheek into his palm.
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[Author's note: Help with French phrases.
Du vrai, mon petit chou = Truly, my little cabbage (i.e., my darling)
Pourquoi pas? = Why not?
C'est ne pas possible = It's not possible
Vraiment? = Truly? Really?
