Page 87 of The Mister I Married

He looked at her and the anguish in his eyes made her chest ache. “I’m fine,” he said roughly, shoving a lock of wet hair off his forehead. “But where is the bloody doctor? He should have—”

The front door swung open with a bang, drowning out his words, and Tess rushed into the entrance hall. “Have you found Father?” she asked, pushing back the hood of her cloak. “Is he here?”

A balding, bespectacled man dressed in black and carrying a leather bag followed her inside.

“He is asleep in his bed,” Alex said to his sister before turning to the man beside her. “Thank you for coming, Doctor Phillips. My father is cold and exhausted, but he seems to be uninjured.”

The doctor nodded. “Take me to him, please.”

Emmy watched her husband climb the stairs with Tess and the doctor following behind, and she nearly went with them—she certainly wanted to—but after yesterday and everything that had happened since, she wasn’t certain her presence would be welcome.

With her heart in her throat, Emmy turned and walked into the rose salon, quiet now as Olivia and Griffin stood awkwardly in front of the sofa, eyeing her with twin looks of concern.

“Are you all right?” Olivia asked softly.

Emmy shook her head. “I’m scared. Mr. Whitcomb looked dreadful. What if he is injured? What if he should take ill?” She swallowed. “What if he never wakes—”

She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes just as Griffin wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in her brother’s jacket and willed the tears back, along with her rising panic.

“Try not to worry,” he said, patting her back. “The doctor is here now, and your husband seems to think Mr. Whitcomb will be fine.”

Emmy huffed out a humorless laugh. “How can I not worry? He is such a dear man, and he is unwell because of me.”

The next hour seemed to creep along at a snail’s pace with Emmy fretting and pacing while her family looked on, doing their best to soothe her to no avail.

She was not in the mood to be soothed.

Finally, an eternity later, Alex appeared in the doorway, his expression stoic and frustratingly unreadable.

“Well?” Emmy said, striding up to him, her heart hammering against her ribcage. “How is he?”

“He is awake,” Alex said, his voice low and weary. “He is weak and chilled to the bone, but the doctor thinks he will recover quickly with no lasting effects.”

“Oh, thank God,” Emmy said, pressing her palms to her cheeks as relief flooded her. “May I see him?”

“Yes, though he might be a bit drowsy. The doctor gave him a sedative to relax him, but he should be mostly lucid for another few minutes.”

Emmy nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Oh, Alex. I am so sorry. I never should have left. I never meant to—”

“Please, Emmy,” he said, his gentle tone softening the interruption. “Can we discuss this later? I am chilled to the bone, too, and I’d love a hot bath and dry clothes.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, realizing her selfishness in keeping him. “Go. We’ll talk later.”

He quit the room, and she watched him leave, trying not to cry, her throat so thick with emotion she could not speak.

Thank God, she thought. Thank God Mr. Whitcomb is going to be all right.

Griffin cleared his throat behind her and Emmy whirled around in surprise before pulling him and Olivia in for a long embrace. She’d nearly forgotten they were there.

“Thank you for staying,” she said, looking first at her brother and then her friend. “I should have gone mad without you both here with me.”

“Of course we stayed!” Olivia said. “What sort of a friend would I be if I hadn’t stayed? And we are so glad Mr. Whitcomb is safe now.”

Emmy nodded, tears of relief misting her eyes. “I am, too.” She sniffled then drew in a deep, calming breath. “Shall I have your same room prepared for you? Surely it is too late for you to travel.”

“Nonsense,” Olivia said. “If we leave now, we will arrive at the inn in time for a late supper.”

“Olivia,” Griffin said gently, “I think it would be best if we stayed here tonight and left for London in the morning.”