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‘The maid said...’ The duchess rushed to his side. ‘She mentioned a cut on your hand. The footman saw it when you were eating.’
‘It’s nothing to concern yourself over.’
‘Let me see it.’
He held out his hand, keeping the palm almost closed so the slice wouldn’t open again.
She gasped, her thin fingers reaching out to hold the sides of his hand. ‘How...?’
‘It was just an accident.’
She clasped her hands to her heart. ‘I cannot. I cannot lose you, too.’
‘I am planning to stay alive for quite some time, Mother. Please do not try to get rid of me so quickly.’
‘This is not a jesting matter. You—’ She turned and reached to summon a servant. ‘I am sending for the physician now.’ Her voice rose to almost a scream. Her body shook.
‘My babies. They cannot all die. I cannot be left by all my babies, Rhys. Can you not see that?’
‘I am almost recovered now, Mother. It is not my time to die.’
‘We must have the Prince’s physician. We must.’
He took his time with each word, hoping to calm her. ‘If my hand becomes infected, we’ll send for the man, but the roads are too bad for him to travel.’
‘It will be too late by then. Look at it,’ she said, again clasping her hands to her heart. She collapsed on to the sofa, her voice rising. ‘I cannot live through this again. I cannot.’
Bellona ran into the room. ‘Is he bleeding?’
‘Bellona. He is injured. Badly. His face is feverish. His hand must be infected.’ She clasped her head. ‘My baby.’
‘He is dying?’ Concern flashed in her face.
‘No more than I was this—last—yesterday.’ He did not wish his mother to know the truth. ‘I have a cut on my hand, Bellona.’ He spoke precisely. ‘A simple cut. That is all.’
‘I did not mean for this to happen. I cannot live with myself if you die,’ Bellona said.
‘He is my only...’ The duchess stared at Bellona in bewilderment. ‘He is all I have left.’
‘Ladies.’ Rhys’s voice calmed them. ‘I am only slightly injured. Not dead. Please do not hurry my demise along by wearying me to death.’
His mother rose, pushing herself up. ‘A mother should not outlive all her children and have no grandchildren to carry on. It is not just.’ She looked at Rhys, but her question was directed to the winds. ‘What have I done to deserve this?’ She put her arms out. ‘What have my children done?’
‘Nothing, Mother.’ He moved to her and held out his hand. ‘See. A little cut. I’m fine.’
‘You promise me you will not die. You must promise.’
‘You have my word.’
She snatched his wrist. ‘I will keep you to it.’ Tears pooled. ‘And you will give me grandchildren? Soon, Rhys. Promise you will give me grandchildren soon. I want to hold them before I die. You must go to London as soon as the roads are safe.’
‘Yes, I will.’
Chapter Thirteen
Bellona put her hands over her ears even though no one spoke in the room and she was alone. How many times in how many ways had the duchess said how much she missed her family and how Rhys must wed someone from his own world? And how many times had his mother expressed her fear that he might now die if the cut in his hand became putrid?
Rhys had spent the morning calming his mother while Bellona listened, watching his hand to make sure it no longer bled. After he’d left the room, his mother had talked of nothing else but her younger son for hours. Then the discourse had travelled through each deceased family member and five handkerchiefs.
Bellona waited until the duchess tired herself into a nap. Robinson Crusoe was in the room at the servants’ quarters. Perhaps she had found a man whom she could spend the rest of her days with, this Mr Crusoe, not that she particularly cared for him, but at least he did not have a mother nearby.
Rhys was in the library. She knew it. She could almost follow his movements inside the house without ever seeing him. He varied little from his usual paths and when he did she could tell by the activity that changed in the household. A different servant would be at the stair or she’d hear his horse outside, or a scent of some baked treat brought upstairs would waft her way.
He had told his mother the roads would be better the next day and he would leave for London. Bellona could not let him go without seeing him again.
She walked into the library.
Rhys sat at his desk. He didn’t have the usual ledgers in front of him, but a chessboard with several pieces resting to the side and most on the board. His right arm lay on the desk and he moved a white pawn with his left hand.
