"Ann…? Can you hear me…?"
The girl glanced up, smiling tiredly. He had brought her tea. She tried to sit up, but the fever had left her weak.
Mycroft set the cup and saucer on the bedside table and placed a hand on her back and another on her arm, helping her prop herself up. He may not have asked for her, but he would treat her more kindly than her father had.
"Ann, can I ask you something? And answer honestly, now. Did you purposely get sick in an attempt to provoke matrimonial affection between us?"
She blinked. "Matrimonial…"
"Love."
Another blink. "… Oh, I wish I'd actually thought of that…"