“Thomas?”
The voice echoed from a far distance, muffled, as if rumbling through a soupy London fog. A woman.
“My baby. Please come back to me.”
Mother?
A faint urge to reach out plucked at his senses, but nothing moved.
The cold flowed over him again, taking him away.
*
The vigil lastedthrough the night. The five of them—the duke and duchess, Michael, Rose, and her father—left only to relieve themselves. Hodges, the duke’s valet, kept a tea tray on a table just outside the door, refreshing the hot water every half hour, bits of food every two. Tea was swallowed by the gallon, but no one ate. The surgeons returned just after dawn, encouraged that Thomas still breathed, although his respirations remained shallow and rapid. They suggested warming Thomas at this stage, covering him fully and bringing up the temperature in the room, as well as reducing the amount of laudanum. They ushered the women out of the room so that they could change the bandage and check for signs of infection.
At first, the duchess refused to budge, and the lead surgeon appealed to the duke, which infuriated the duchess. Rose stood up from the bench and said softly, “Your Grace?”
The duchess blinked, as if seeing Rose for the first time. Then her face softened. “Oh, my dear!”
Rose held out her hand. “Let’s walk a bit.”
The duchess looked down at her son, her face awash with fear and pain, her eyes brimmed with tears. Then she bit her lower lip and nodded, stepping from his bedside. The duke shot Rose a look of gratitude as she took his wife’s arm and led her to the door of the bedchamber.
In the hallway, the duchess took a deep breath and she clung to Rose’s arm as they walked. “They do not want us to see the wound.”
“No. To be honest, it is a hard memory to have.”
The duchess glanced at her. “Have you ever seen a wound like that?”
Rose didn’t want to mention her own past injuries. “I have.”
The duchess looked surprised. “You have?”
“Not from a gunshot, but I manage the household for my mother. That puts me in the kitchens and mews a great deal. I have seen burns. Knife wounds. Broken bones.”
“That’s startling for a young woman so gently brought up.”
“The ‘gently’ part dissipated five years ago.”
“Ah. Yes.” The duchess stroked Rose’s forearm in much the way she had done Thomas’s. “Thank you for coming. I felt it important that you be here, no matter what happens between you and Thomas in the future.”
“I appreciate that, Your Grace. Your son and I...”
She patted Rose’s arm. “You and Thomas have a difficult, complicated relationship.”
“I suspect you are being kind.”
“I suspect you should call me Emalyn at this point. At least in private.”
Rose tested the name on her lips. “Emalyn. An unusual name.”
“My mother told me it was an old family name.”
“Ah.”
“My father told me that was a complete lie. That Mother had read it in some novel.”
Rose snorted, trying to stifle a laugh.
