Page 29 of Atone, Adonis

Chapter

10

The wind came first, biting and harsh, tearing through every gap in Farrow Cottage’s rafters. Snow followed quickly after, a late-season storm sweeping across the countryside, leaving icy draughts in every corner of Dorset it touched.

Julianna woke to the sound of Thomas coughing. Not the first time this had been the noise that awakened her, but this fit was worse than ever before. She was up in an instant, bare feet flying to his bedside.

“Thomas!” She pressed her palm to his brow, even as the rattling in his chest, wet and broken, reverberated in her ears. His skin was aflame, far too hot to her touch for her liking.

Mrs. Sykes bent low over him, dabbing at his mouth with a folded cloth that came away tinged with red. “His fever has risen,” she said grimly. “He must have warmth, my lady. And the doctor. I cannot nurse him in this cold.”

A knot rose in Julianna’s throat. She had already heaped every blanket they possessed on Thomas. Already stoked the fire until it roared and pressed hot bricks wrapped in flannel to his feet. She’d rubbed his hands between her own until her fingers went numb and made him cup after cup of scalding tea. None of it mattered. The pitiless cold still seeped through every chink in every wall, stealing all the warmth she’d managed to provide.

Thomas’s thin body shuddered with another wracking cough. She gathered his hand into hers, his fingers icy despite the fever. “Tom,” she whispered. “Stay with me. I mean it.”

He attempted his usual grin but couldn’t quite pull it off. “Always so bossy, Julie-bug,” he rasped.

His fingers tightened around hers then, his good humor dissipating into the fear she knew he felt. The nurse pressed the blanket more tightly around his shoulders and motioned for Julianna to step out of the room.

As soon as they were alone in the hallway, she said, “I fear he will not last the week here, my lady. Is there nowhere else we can go?”

Julianna’s heart hammered. There was one place she knew of, of course. Sedgewick Manor might be in ruins but it was better in a storm than Farrow Cottage. It had to be.

She glanced at her mother’s gown that still hung upon its peg from her wedding the week before and then back at Thomas, his eyes too big in his wasted face.

“You’re right,” she said hoarsely. “He cannot stay here.”

She returned to Thomas’s bedside and pressed a kiss to his forehead before rushing out of the room and down the stairs. She wrapped herself in her heaviest shawl and cloak and laced her boots with shaking hands. She wanted to go before the storm got much worse and before she changed her mind. Frederick Sedgewick was going to do the right thing for once in his godforsaken life, even if she had to drag him back to Farrow Cottage herself to see it done.

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Sykes called to her.

“Sedgewick Manor.”

“In this storm? Wait until the morning at least.”

“No.”

Julianna walked outside and into the gale. The snow struck her face in a sideways slant, stinging her cheeks raw. She bent her head against the wind and pressed on, one sodden step at a time.

Her boots sank into drifts, her skirts soaked through and dragging at her legs. The road was half-lost beneath the whiteness, but she knew the way. She’d crossed the fields to Sedgewick Manor a thousand times over when they’d been children together. Thomas and Fred running wild through the estate as she followed behind, doing her best to keep up.

The memories struck her differently now. She’d never considered before why Fred had always been with them. Why he’d spent every day he could at Farrow Cottage instead of Sedgewick Manor. His father had died before she was even born, his step-mother had never remarried. He must have been…lonely.

She shook her head, as the wind gusted harder, trying to rid herself of the thought. She needn’t turn maudlin now. Nor did she need to consider Fred in any light but the current one. Those years were a long time ago and his life had turned out quite well, hadn’t it? He had titles and London and enough money to buy anything he might like, including companionship. Loneliness was not an issue for men like him.

Her shawl whipped loose at the next sudden gust of wind, and she clutched it to her throat, fingers stiff with cold. Almost there.

At last, the looming bulk of Sedgewick Manor emerged, dark and forbidding against the white flurries of snow. Its windows glimmered faintly with light though. Someone was home, thank heavens. She’d been afraid Fred had left for London already. And then she realized that he very well might have and whoever was there wouldn’t know her at all.

No matter. She needed help for Thomas’s sake and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She fixed her gaze on those lights and made her frozen legs move faster. By the time she reached the great doors, her hair was crusted with ice and her fingers numb, but she raised her fist and pounded.

When no one came, she knocked again, louder, until her knuckles were raw beneath her gloves. At last the door creaked open a hair’s breadth, revealing the pale, blinking face of the butler. Her butler. Although, he did not know it yet.

“May I help you, Miss?” the man asked, clearly startled to find her on the doorstep, looking no better, she presumed, than a half-drowned cat.

“Yes,” she said, sweeping past him and into the great hall before he could answer. “Where is Lord Chester?”

The butler’s eyes flitted over her snow-caked hair and the wet hem of her cloak and shawl. “His lordship is not available but if you’d care to wait in the anteroom, I’m certain that—”