“It’s a small project I have undertaken.”
“Small project?” Aunt looked at her husband. “Would you call a hospital a small endeavor, darling?”
My uncle shook his head. “Buying and renovating a cottage is an investment. But hiring a doctor and staff to run it, well, that is unheard of.”
“I am not the first to do it,” I tried to explain. “Mother does not know yet, so please let me be the one to tell her.”
“Of course,” Aunt said.
“Drat.” Uncle snapped his fingers. “Do you hear the music? The play has started again.”
“We can visit later. Come see us, dear,” Aunt said, as they rushed off.
I put out my arm to Estelle. “We should hurry back as well.”
She nodded and curled her arm through mine. I thought it fit rather perfectly, but did she? With all the questions I had going through my mind lately, I dearly wanted the answer to this one.
Chapter 28
Estelle
The trip to the theater had been wonderful, and everyone stumbled to their beds, fatigued from the late night. It was only after Nora’s chastising that I had agreed to let her pull the pins from my hair and plait it for me. I had fallen in bed with the expectation to sleep until midmorning, only to be bitterly disappointed. After a mere hour of sleep, my stomach woke me. I was dreadfully hungry. We had eaten an early dinner, and my stomach refused to wait until morning.
Whimpering in self-pity, I threw my legs over the side of the bed. With half-shuttered eyes, I pattered to the fireplace and fumbled as my tired fingers lit my candle and donned my wrapper. Treading noiselessly down the stairs, I turned toward the servants’ entrance to the kitchen. A sudden, sharp yell turned my feet to stone.
Where had that come from? My head jerked in every direction, but I saw nothing.
Was someone being attacked?
My senses were now fully awake.
Another yell and my head turned toward the closed library door. I did not want to investigate on my own. Not in the dead of night. But the image of Mr. Long, bruised and broken in an alley, thawed my frozen feet and pushed me into motion. If someone was hurt, I had to be brave.
My heart beat wildly as I slowly lifted the library door handle and cracked it open. I was met with silence and darkness. I inched the door open farther, fully expecting someone to either jump out at me or grab me from behind.
When nothing happened, I forced myself to proceed.
I stepped into the library, my hand on the candlestick now shaking. Moving the light around the room, I searched for anything out of the norm. After all my lessons with Augusta, I knew it well.
I had not finished my search when a deep moan made me jump. My mouth opened to scream. At that exact moment, the light of my candle met a prostrate figure on the sofa, and my voice silenced on my tongue.
Atlas?
He was thrashing around as if his body was seizing. I rushed forward just as he moaned again. A ghostly sound of pain and fear.
A sound I had heard before.
The night I met my stranger.
I set down my candlestick on the sofa table and placed my hands on his shoulder, hunching down beside him. “Atlas!”
He wasn’t seizing . . . he was dreaming. This was a nightmare. Some of my fear abated, but I was still desperate to see him calm again. “Atlas, please. Wake up.” I reached up and smoothed his hair, damp with sweat. Candlelight flickered across his face, his features tight. “Shh, it’s all right. You’re all right.”
Under my touch and soothing, Atlas slowly relaxed against the sofa pillow, and his breathing slowed.
“Sleep now,” I whispered.
His eyes pulled open and he blinked. When he turned to meet my eyes, he jerked back.
