The dowager sat back and nodded towards the bed. “He was awake when I first came in. The fool boy had fallen from his bed and was carrying on some nonsense I could not make out. Except for your name—yes, I heard that clearly enough.”
Elizabeth’s breath stilled, and she dashed moisture from her cheek. “He-he said my name?”
“Two or three times. Insisted on seeing you, but I could see you had another conversation to tend, so I told him he would see you after you had done. Then he bellowed something about calling for Darcy—again, I said he must wait. He raised a dreadful fuss when I ordered him back to his bed and made him take his draught.”
Elizabeth leaned forward. “You understood nothing else he said?”
“There was a moment, just before he succumbed to sleep, that he sounded like himself.” Ageing eyes shone watery from that angle, and her chin quivered. “For a moment, he was my own young lad again.”
“What did he say?” she pleaded in a desperate whisper.
The dowager frowned. “He asked where his father was. I did not answer, but he knew it at once.” She sighed wearily. “Then he became insensible once the medicine took hold. My poor Richard! ‘Twas too much to bear.” She twisted to look at Elizabeth again. “My child, it will take all the strength you possess, and then some, to see him to health again.”
“My lady... my mind is willing, but I fear my heart and flesh are but mortal and frail.”
The dowager patted her hand comfortingly. “So are his, child. So are his.”
For another hour, they sat together—gentle wisdom slowly gaining over youthful despair. At least in appearances. How long would it be before she could breathe without this stabbing agony? How long before she could accept, without rebellious affliction driving her every desire? How long before she could sleep again, smile again... couldsettle?
Her first longing at every turn of her heart was to run to William and beg him to find a way clear, a way forthem,but her second notion—the more rational one that must carry her through—was to lean into this woman who had first shunned her, then accepted her as her own.
It made sense, the dowager claimed. Richard needed her in ways William never could. She and Richard would be well matched. Happy.
She could love Richard.
She knew she could from the start. But her definition of love had undergone such a radical upheaval that she now wondered if she could still recognise that tame sentiment, a mild extension of the friendship and respect she had formerly shared with this man. But shecouldfeel something warm for him, and that made her future a happier one than most could anticipate.
And she had a faithful ally in his mother. That had to count for something. She buried her face in her palms and hoped that formidable woman did not hear her weeping.
The dowager rocked forwards after some time of silence between them and peered at her son. “He is rousing. I believe I will let you speak to him alone.”
“No—wait!” Elizabeth reached frantically for the woman’s hand. “When last he woke, he became violent. I tried to comfort him, but he mistook me and—”
“Is he having any nightmares at present?” the woman asked with a stern brow. “No, he is quite calm. Now is the perfect time.”
Despite Elizabeth’s soundless protestations and imploring looks, the dowager set her cane before her and rose.
Itwasquiet.
A bird chirped somewhere outside his window... or was that a voice? A thrush knocked—no, that was a door closing. The murky stupor of that cursed morphine was slow to recoil the tendrils of mist shot through his mind, but gradually, reluctantly, it rolled back at his command. One panting sigh, and the world came into focus again.
Instead of blazing smoke and dust, soft blues and golds rimmed his surroundings. Alabaster vases, mahogany furniture and classical paintings stood out as he swept one side of the silent room. He braced himself in the soft bed and turned to look at the other half of the chamber... and saw her.
She had taken a defensive posture behind a chair, her eyes large and her complexion red from... weeping? He studied her.
“I... I know you,” he said in a hoarse voice.
She nodded encouragement. “Elizabeth. Do you remember... Richard?”
He sat up further, and all the blood rushed from his head to pool in his stomach. “Elizabeth? Good heavens. I wondered if it was only a dream. What are you doing here?”
She grimaced. “It is a longer story than I can tell all at once. Shall I call for something for you?”
He held up a hand in denial, then put it to his brow. “No. Let my head clear a bit.”
Cautiously, she inched into the chair. “Does it pain you?” she asked with a nervous gesture.
“My head? Constantly, whenever this blasted malaria makes a resurgence.”
