Page 17 of Broken

His words calmed her. Lilly slumped and fell silent. In a short time, Giles realized she had fallen asleep against him. He eased out from behind her back and laid her gently against the pillows. She didn’t stir. Her eyes were closed and her breath sounded even and deep. He covered her again, wishing he might have seen Mrs. Osprey’s view. He wished he had caught a glimpse of her eyes.

CHAPTER SIX

The first things Lilly noticed were the brightness of her room and the fact that there was no nurse snoring by the hearth. That last was unusual. She had never been truly alone since her accident. There was always an efficient and upright woman in drab muslin waiting to spoon a hefty dose of laudanum into her often-unwilling mouth.

Sometimes the pain was bad enough that she was glad to drink it. But not always.

Because of the laudanum, time passed in a blur. She could not always tell one day from another. If she were honest—one year from the next. The world was moving faster than Lilly could comprehend, and the seemingly sudden changes frightened her.

Her nurses did not always talk. The current one did not. Lilly only learned of things from her papa as he gently reminded her what day it was, where they were, and read parts of the newssheet to her until she fell asleep again.

Lilly frowned, momentarily swamped by confusion until she remembered she was at Cottingstone Manor. She breathed easy—she’d loved this place as a child. While her parents had dined and chatted the day away, she had slipped out to enjoy what little freedom she could find.

As the only child in residence, she had spent hours alone in the nursery, playing with the boy’s toys she’d found and writing secrets in her journal. Not that she had many secrets, but she had pretended her journal was a friend. She’d always wished for one. Wolfhounds did not count.

A yip gained her attention. There was Atticus again, his long muzzle shot through with gray, feet twitching in sleep. He’d grown bigger than she’d ever imagined he would become. She smiled, but became immediately aware that she ached all over.

Pain was a familiar sensation she expected but tried her best to ignore. No matter how the doctors had prodded and poked, nothing took the pain away except for laudanum. But the potion also took the world away.

Another memory rose. A spoon placed gently against her lips. A flurry of anxious words. Usually the nurses were very grim about her consumption of the stuff, but the voice she remembered held kindness.

Papa had left her alone.

Lilly’s heart stilled. He had not once left her side for more than a few hours since the accident. He’d said he would be gone for days, maybe longer. She gingerly removed her arm from the blankets and reached for the dog, twisting her fingers into his shaggy coat and securing them over his ear.

She would not cry, but she was suddenly very afraid at a memory that rose up to fill her with dread, shattering the little bit of peace she had that day. It was a memory she had long wanted to forget.

Her mama had whispered, “If you cannot get better, then you may as well be dead. You are nothing I can take any pride in.”

Pain had blinded her then. She couldn’t breathe or see. The next things Lilly remembered were her parents screaming at each other across her bed, and shooting pain arcing down her spine and into her skull as she struggled for each new breath.

That was the last time she had seen her home or her mother. Papa had never taken her back.

A wet tongue dragged across her wrist, breaking her thoughts. Atticus had woken and was inching toward her, sad eyes searching her face. She moved her wrist away from his tongue, tugging him tightly to her side. Blinding pain gripped her so she closed her eyes, breathing through her mouth to survive it. When the spasms had passed and she could open her eyes again, the dog’s nose was inches from her own.

Lilly pushed his muzzle away until he settled beside her. Needing his comforting presence, she laid her arm around him and squeezed as much as she could without causing more pain.

It was wonderful to touch another warm being. It happened so rarely. Papa was so careful not to aggravate her injuries that he only ever skimmed her brow to check for fever.

She squinted at what she could see without moving. A pretty rose-pink room surrounded her, perhaps one of the guest rooms on the first floor. Lilly liked the room very much, but wished it were darker.

Her pulse throbbed behind her eyes and she fought to ignore the warning sign of an impending headache. It was not often that she could appreciate the places she stayed, but the room was lovely.

Chicken broth.

She remembered sipping chicken broth from a blue-edged bowl and suddenly wished for some more. Her tongue rasped dry over her lips at the memory. The warm liquid had slipped down easily, but she had become full so soon, and tired too.

Atticus had been beside her, but farther away from her than normal. She remembered the sharp, sweet smell of sickness, but the memory lurched and merged with others. She remembered old faces, Lady Daventry’s portrait, and carpet under her cheek. She shrugged away the memory, fearing it might never make sense.

Lilly moved a little, trying to ease the uncomfortable pressing of her full bladder. There was no help for it; she would have to call the nurse. But what was her name? Lilly racked her brain. Dibbs. Yes, that’s right.

She took a quick breath and turned herself toward the direction she thought the chamber pot might be. While sharp knives of pain sliced through her head, she remembered another arm around her, strong like Papa, but different.

A man had held her. His scent had soothed her nerves, his deep voice had rumbled through her ribs. But she had been unable to see the body that owned the voice. He had used her name, too. He’d begged her to eat the soup so he did not have to. That warm body had cradled hers as she sipped the broth, his breath fanning over her cheek, keeping the chill of night at bay.

A firm hand had held her head gently against a hard chest, soothing the skin of her cheek and jaw. Those same fingers had stroked her neck, too, taking away her dizziness and replacing it with peace. Papa never did that. He would never think to rub her feet or slip stockings over her cold toes.

Cold…she remembered being cold. She shook her head suddenly, but the action pulled a whimper from her throat. After all this time, she should know better. Little movements were all she could manage.