“Send a message to His Grace that I shall not be down to luncheon,” she murmured.
Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks and she knew no more.
*
It seemed that she had slept for a very short time before Violet’s voice aroused her.
“Your Grace! Your Grace!”
From the depths of oblivion Cornelia came back to consciousness.
“What is it?” she asked.
“His Grace insists on seeing you immediately.”
Startled into wakefulness, Cornelia sat up in bed.
“He must not come in here,” she said, having a quick glimpse of herself as she moved, seeing her hair failing over the pillow and the whiteness of her skin against the rosy hue of her nightgown.
“No, Your Grace. He asks that you will get dressed immediately. He is awaitin’ you in the sittin’ room.”
Cornelia asked no more questions but cli
