As they entered a long hall lined with neat rows of beds, Tristan suddenly cried out, “Mum!”
He dashed ahead towards a narrow bed where a pale, chestnut-haired woman was propped up against a stack of pillows. Her eyes were sunken but alert, and they lit up the moment she saw him.
“Tristan,” she rasped, holding her arms wide.
He leapt onto the bed, throwing his arms around her. “I was so scared,” he said tearfully. “I thought you were going to die like Father.”
She clutched him tightly. “Never, my love. I’d never leave you, not by choice.”
Doctor Langley approached the bedside. “Tabitha’s recovery has been extraordinary. She was weak from starvation, but once we began nourishing her, she improved rapidly.”
Dorothea stepped closer, her eyes taking in Tabitha’s fragile frame and the renewed light in her expression. “That’s wonderful news.”
Tabitha looked past her son, her gaze tentative. “Are you Lady Warwicke?”
“I am.”
Tabitha reached up to ruffle Tristan’s curls. “Please tell your husband how grateful I am. Without his help, I don’t know where we would be.”
Tristan sat up proudly and tugged at the hem of his clean shirt. “Look at my new clothes! Lord Warwicke had them made for me.”
“You look so handsome,” his mother whispered.
He lifted one foot. “And new shoes! No more holes.”
Tabitha’s eyes welled with emotion. “What can I ever do to repay you, my lady?”
Dorothea shook her head. “There’s no debt here. Just focus on getting better.”
Nestling beside his mother, Tristan announced, “Lady Warwicke wants to hire you as her lady’s maid.”
Tabitha’s mouth fell open. “Is that… true?”
“It is,” Dorothea confirmed. “Tristan told me you were the best there ever was.”
Tristan beamed proudly. “I did! And I told Lord Warwicke you weren’t a thief.”
Tears sprang to Tabitha’s eyes as she pressed a trembling hand to her forehead. “This feels like a dream. I don’t know what to say.”
Dorothea reached out and touched Tabitha’s shoulder gently. “I understand your husband was a soldier.”
Tabitha’s smile faded. “He died on the Continent.”
“My husband and my father were both soldiers,” Dorothea shared. “We must care for one another. Your husband gave everything in service of the Crown.”
Tabitha looked at her through a sheen of tears. “I miss him every day.”
Dorothea offered a warm, steadying smile. “Then let us honor his memory by building something stronger—for your sake, for Tristan’s. You’re not alone anymore.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Tabitha replied, her voice thick with emotion.
Dorothea opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden tickle in her nose caught her off guard. She turned slightly away and brought a lace-edged handkerchief to her mouth, stifling a delicate sneeze.
“Excuse me,” she murmured.
Doctor Langley tilted his head with concern. “Are you feeling quite well, Lady Warwicke?”
She pressed the handkerchief gently to her nose, frowning faintly. “I daresay a cold may be creeping up on me. Nothing more, I hope.”
