Page 67 of Mail-Order Viscountess

“Keep her cool. The ice packs are good—continue those. Garlic poultices. I’ll leave medicine.” He straightened and turned to Kate, then glanced over at Bea, who still stood at the door. His expression had gone grave. “Have either of you had scarlet fever? Or any of the family?”

Kate’s throat tightened. “I haven’t.”

Bea spoke from behind them. “Only Robert, when he was a boy. I remember the rash—we almost lose him.”

Dr. Morrison nodded. “Then Robert is the only one who should enter this room. Anyone who hasn’t had scarlet fever risks infection.”

“No.” The word burst out before she could stop it. “I’m staying with her.”

“Mrs. Balfour.” The doctor’s expression softened a tiny bit. “Scarlet fever is extremely contagious. If you stay in this room, you will almost certainly contract it yourself.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should care.” His tone sharpened. “If it spreads beyond this room, the entire household could fall ill. Your husband. His brothers. The women. The baby.” He paused, letting the weight of those words settle. “I’ve seen whole families wiped out by scarlet fever. Every last one of them dead within a fortnight because they didn’t take proper precautions.”

The image rose unbidden—Thomas lying fevered and rasping like Clara. Mandie’s tiny babe—that terrible red rash spreading across her skin.

All because she’d been selfish enough to stay with her sister.

Her fingernails bit into her palms. “But Clara needs me.”

“Clara needs someone who can care for her without risking the lives of everyone else in this house.” Dr. Morrison’s voice gentled slightly. “I understand your desire to stay. But you must think of the greater good here.”

“Robert can tend her.” Bea moved closer, her hand finding Kate’s shoulder. “He will do what is needed.”

Kate shook her head, even as her eyes burned. Robert was capable—she didn’t doubt that. But he was practically a stranger to Clara. And a man at that. How would he know exactly what to do when Clara was too miserable to voice her needs?

“Please.” Kate’s voice cracked. “She’s my sister. I’m all she has.”

The doctor’s gaze held hers. Uncompromising. “You’ll be no good to her if you fall ill yourself. In fact, you may already have been exposed. We need to quarantine you separately until we know whether you’ve contracted the disease.”

“Quarantine?” The word tasted bitter on her tongue. “You want to lock me away while Clara⁠—”

“I want to keep you alive.” The doctor’s voice never wavered. “Both of you, if possible. But I cannot do that if you insist on remaining in this room.”

Kate looked at Clara—at her flushed face and labored breathing, at the rash spreading like wildfire across her skin. Her sister. The one person in this world she would do anything to protect.

And now they were telling her she had to walk away.

The doctor was already moving, gathering items from his bag and setting them on the small table beside the bed. Glass bottles clinked together—medicines probably. “I’ll show Robert what needs to be done. The fever must be kept down. She’ll need fluids—broth if she can take it, water if not. The garlic poultices every few hours.”

Kate’s vision swam. This couldn’t be happening. She’d crossed an entire continent to keep Clara safe, and now⁠—

A soft moan escaped Clara’s lips. Her head turned on the pillow.

Kate moved to her side, taking her burning hand. “I’m here, Clary. I’m right here.”

Clara’s eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. Her lips moved, forming words too quiet to hear.

“What is it?” Kate leaned closer. “What do you need?”

“Robert… Let him…” Her sister’s voice rasped, yet the words came clear enough.

Kate had to swallow back the tears. Everything in her screamed to stay here. Yet she had to stay alive to protect Clara.

She turned back to Bea. “He’ll let me know everything that’s happening? If she changes at all?”

Bea nodded, her dark eyes shimmering. “Every hour, one of us will come tell you. And if she wakes, if she asks for you, Robert will send for you right away.”