“How the devil did I muck it up this time?” Thomas stood in the door of the library, his voice tinged with frustration and anger. Not an avenging angel this time, but a manic husband, his hair standing on end and the tie of his banyan barely holding the sides together. “Rose, what are you doing down here?”
Emalyn stood, picked up her tray, and turned to her son. “You, Thomas, are one of the few people I have ever known who can make an arsehole of himself in his sleep.”
Rose got to her feet, scowling. Again, that mushy sound in Emalyn’s words.
His eyes jerked from Rose to his mother, then back. “What?”
Emalyn smiled crookedly and headed for the door. As she passed him, she looked up. “You called her Kitty, dolt.” She patted his arm. “I think I repaired the major damage, but you have some work to do.”
All the color drained from Thomas’s face, and he scrubbed his hand across his gaping mouth. “I did not.”
Rose nodded. “You did.”
He was next to her in an instant, reaching for her face, his thumbs brushing the tears. “You should have wakened me. My love—”
A sudden clatter of metal and shattering china exploded from the hallway. For an instant, they both froze, staring at the door, then Rose threw off the blanket. “Emalyn!” She bolted through the door, almost tripping over the small mound of Emalyn’s body. She blocked Thomas, who almost did the same, then dropped to her knees, rolling Emalyn onto her back.
“Mother!” Thomas knelt as well, trying to shake her.
Rose stopped him. “No. You have to get her upstairs to her bed. Keep her head and shoulders elevated. I’ll rouse the house. Send for the doctor.”
Thomas stared at her. “You know what’s wrong?”
“I think. But we must act quickly. Now!”
Thomas scooped up his mother and pounded up the stairs, calling for his father. Rose ran for the closest bell pull, then headed for the kitchen. She collided with a drowsy hallboy on the back stairs. “We need a doctor for Her Grace. Quickly. Wake the house! Hurry!”
Rose then headed back up the stairs in a run, knowing that if she were right, all of their lives had just changed forever.
*
Thomas stood atthe foot of the bed as the doctor put away the last of his equipment and spoke in low tones to his father. Philip could not take his eyes, or one hand, off his wife, but he seemed to be listening closely. The doctor glanced several times at Rose, who stood at Thomas’s side, arms crossed, her focus on Emalyn’s face as well. Finally, the doctor took a step in her direction.
“Lady Newbury.” When Rose didn’t respond, the doctor touched her arm. “Lady Newbury.”
Rose jerked and blinked, as if coming out of a daze. “I’m sorry.”
“Why did you think Her Grace had a hemorrhagic apoplexy?”
Rose touched her left temple. “The... the headache. Her words... she was slurring her words... the side of her face when she smiled.” She swallowed hard. “My father.”
The doctor straightened suddenly in recognition. “Of course. Your father is Lord Huntingdale.”
She nodded.
“You were there when he collapsed. Then took charge of his care as he recovered.”
A single nod. “Yes, sir.”
Theophile Oakley, who had overseen the care of both families as long as Thomas could remember, acknowledged Rose’s sign of respect with a tilt of his head. “It’s good you acted quickly, but you know it may have made little difference.”
Another single nod.
He addressed Thomas, as well as Robert, Michael, and Beth, who stood on the far side of the bed. “I’m afraid all we can do for now is wait. If Lady Newbury is correct—and I believe she is from what I’ve been told—and this is mild, then Her Grace should awaken soon. At that point, we can assess what, if any damage has occurred and take the appropriate steps. The longer she remains unconscious, the greater the likelihood of severe damage. Talk to her, touch her, stay with her. We have been told by victims that they can sometimes hear what’s going on around them. When she awakens, send for me before doing anything else.” He nodded at Philip. “I will wait for your messenger.” He shook Thomas’s hand, then left, passing through a flurry of servants just outside the door.
They all stood silently a few moments, then Michael went to the corner of Emalyn’s bedchamber, picked up an upholstered straight chair, and brought it to the side of her bed. He set it behind Philip and urged his father to sit. After a moment, the duke did, his bulky frame dwarfing the small but sturdy chair.
Michael returned to his spot, and Beth put her arms around him, pulling her brother close. “I don’t know what to do,” she said, wiping a tear.
